Almost Love
by kci47
Summary: Some insights into how a Snape/Hermione romance could be. Scenes set during each of the 7 books - no romance until HG's older. As canon-compliant as possible. Rated T for mild language and a slightly steamy scene towards the end. Warning: character death.
1. Prologue: Powdered Root of Asphodel

**August 1991**

_The pesky Amortentia was at fault, really_, Severus Snape reflected many years later. He supposed there had been no way of knowing, then, just what it meant, or even if knowing would have changed any of his actions. He could still remember the first time he'd noticed the change…

.oOo.

It was the summer of 1991, and Snape was practice-brewing all the potions he would be teaching his N.E.W.T. students that year. At first, all he could sense was that something was not quite right. Pausing in his ingredient preparation, he took a deep breath – aha, there it was: the Amortentia smelled different. Striding over to the cauldron, Snape checked the love potion. It was the correct color and consistency, and the smoke was rising in spirals as it should. Mentally reviewing the ingredients he had added, Snape knew it had been brewed correctly. Why, then, did it smell so odd?

For years now, Amortentia had recalled (quite comfortingly to Snape) daisies, powdered root of asphodel, and cinnamon biscuits. The first several times he had brewed it after Lily's death had provided an emotional shock, but over the years Snape had become accustomed to the scent. It was familiar, soothing, consistent; he hardly paid it any attention when his students were brewing. He knew it might seem peculiar, to an outsider, that a love potion reminiscent of Lily Evans would smell like_ daisies_, of all things, but it had been a tiny daisy she had shown Petunia on that fateful day when he had first introduced himself, and told her she was a witch.

The cinnamon biscuits were her favorite treat (often shared with her best friend, Sev), and the asphodel… Well, that one was slightly more complicated, but to Snape, it made a morbid kind of sense. The asphodel flower belonged to the lily family, and its flower language meant 'my regrets follow you to the grave', which Snape had discovered in an old Muggle tome on Victorian flower arrangements. The powdered root of the plant was a common potion ingredient, which was fitting, as Snape and Lily had both excelled at Potions during their schooldays.

Sighing, Snape took another whiff of the strange Amortentia. He detected the dusty smell of old books (_Enchanting_, he thought sarcastically), roses, and a honey-almond mixture with which he was unfamiliar. Sniffing again, he wondered at the change. There was nothing new or unusual in his life of late – no great love affair nor close friendship nor even a change in attitude.

Just to be quite certain, Snape brewed a fresh batch: it, too, smelled of books, roses and honey-almond. _How peculiar_, he had thought. And then… he had quite put it out of his mind. It was no matter to him that the scent had changed – it had been nearly ten years since Lily's death, after all. Still, he felt that he would miss the old fragrance that had stuck with him for so many years. Sometimes, he had even foolishly convinced himself that her lingering essence meant he was forgiven.

Maybe it was for the best: though Lily's scent no longer delivered a blow to his senses, he doubted he was strong enough to withstand both her smell and her eyes staring at him – for The Boy Who Lived was now The Boy Who Was Beginning School at Hogwarts, and it was rumored that he possessed Lily Evans' eyes, exactly her eyes. Shaking his head, Snape cleared the two cauldrons and made a note in his potions journal about the change. Then, forgetting it entirely, he had set about brewing the much more complicated Felix Felicis.

.oOo.

Looking back, Snape wished he had paid more attention to the possible reasons behind the change of aroma. Maybe then he would have been prepared… but no, he doubted that he would have believed it, even if he had realized what it meant. Stacking his papers neatly, he stood from his desk and stretched. Grading all these essays on the potent Amortentia had him feeling quite maudlin, indeed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you to my fabulous betas: WeasleySeeker, without whom, this would be a disjointed seven-shot instead of the lovely, flowing piece that it is today; and siriusly lupine, who explained many of the formatting intricacies of ffn to me, so that you are able to read this without wanting to poke your eyes out. All of my chapters are named after potions ingredients, usually with a special meaning. This was the very first fanfiction I ever started writing, and it was because I saw an entire category for "Snape/Hermione romances" and wondered how in the hell anyone could think that would be a good idea. So, this was born out of an attempt to rationalize it to myself, and hopefully I have managed to stay as canon-compliant as possible. Anything you recognize is not my own. **


	2. Chapter 1: Valerian Sprigs

**September 1991**

Snape paced along the front of his dungeon classroom, reciting his first-day-of-first-year lecture by rote. So far, it seemed that yes, this batch of students _was _going to be as big a bunch of dunderheads as usual. Exhaling slightly more forcefully than normal – Severus Snape never did anything so mundane as _sighing_ – he tapped the blackboard with his wand and the instructions for the Cure for Boils appeared. Keeping his back to the class, he wrapped up his discourse with his customary conclusion.

"Mind that you do not mistake the valerian sprigs for dried nettles… the result will be something which you will not soon _forget_." Waiting, he wondered if any of these students would comprehend his little potions joke. After a moment passed with no sound, his shoulders slumped slightly. Then, he heard it – a giggle, quickly muffled. Turning slowly, he scanned the faces before him, trying to determine which student had just marked themselves as his favorite.

Hopefully looking in the direction of the Slytherins first, he was highly disappointed to see them all staring back at him blankly. Facing the Gryffindors with trepidation, he noted that several were making a _note _of his words on their parchments. Fools. At last, his eyes landed on a girl at the front of the classroom. _Marvelous_, he inwardly snarled. Miss Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor know-it-all and companion of the hated Potter, had just laughed at his joke. Blast.

Avoiding the extreme urge to pen his letter of resignation to Dumbledore this very moment, he instead settled for snapping at the girl. "You find my instructions amusing, Miss Granger?" He was slightly mollified when the humor fled her face and her voice shook as she answered.

"N-n-no, sir, I was only… laughing at your joke." The end of her sentence emerged as no more than a whisper.

Fantastic. She had understood his joke. A bloody, busybody Gryffindor was the only student in her year to have the intelligence to understand what he'd said…

"And tell me, Miss Granger," Snape deliberately made his voice as bored as possible, "do I seem to you like the type of person who would. Make. A. Joke?" He enunciated each word, aware that he was striking fear into the hearts of these children.

Miss Granger's eyes were large saucers in her elfin face, and she shook her head mutely, clearly too terrified to argue with him, even though they both knew that he had, in fact, meant his words to be a feeble attempt at humor.

"Well?" He snarled. "Get to work!" The students rushed about in a sudden frenzy of activity, bumping into each other as they hurried to select their ingredients and brew their first potion. Snape passed a tired hand over his face, wondering how many explosions he would be dealing with today. As Miss Granger walked past him on her way back to her seat, she gave him a considering look. He stiffened and glared back at her. How dare she possess not only intelligence, but a backbone as well? He bloody hated Gryffindors.

Vowing to make her as miserable as possible for the rest of her tenure at Hogwarts, Snape began to move about the classroom, inspecting potions as he went.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to WeasleySeeker for beta-reading. Note that dried nettles are used in the Cure for Boils; valerian sprigs are used in the Forgetfulness Potion. I'm still not J.K. Rowling and I still don't profit from this. **


	3. Chapter 2: Aconite

**November 1991**

Hermione, Ron and Harry looked over their schedules as they finished breakfast. Their first class of the day was Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. Hermione checked her bag to ensure that she'd placed her finished homework inside before brushing her hands on her napkin and preparing to stand up. Harry, too, was gathering his things – but Ron was hurriedly dumping the remaining food into his napkin so that it wouldn't disappear once breakfast was over. Hermione rolled her eyes. The boy never stopped eating.

As they stood to leave with the rest of the students, Hermione saw Dumbledore headed towards them. He was smiling, but her stomach clenched nervously nonetheless.

"Good morning!" he called as he neared them. "Miss Granger, I'd like a word with you, if you don't mind."

Hermione nodded mutely, her brain running through the many possible reasons that _Dumbledore _would want to speak to _her_. Harry and Ron seemed equally awed, both of them standing there with their mouths agape.

"Privately, that is," Dumbledore added, seeming amused that the boys were still standing there. Harry and Ron snapped out of their trances and scurried off, throwing curious glances back at Hermione the entire way to the doors. She watched them go, horror mounting in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she had broken a rule unknowingly? She had been at Hogwarts a little over two months now, but she supposed it was possible there was something in the student handbook that she had missed.

"Please sit down, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said kindly. "You are not in any trouble."

Hermione sank back onto the bench, her bag falling to her side unheeded. Dumbledore sat on the bench opposite her, and in her nervousness she had to suppress a giggle. It was hard to imagine anyone as old as Dumbledore ever having sat at these same tables as a child.

He smiled at her again, his blue eyes alight. "Ah, yes, difficult though it is to believe – I too was once a student," he said. Hermione's eyes widened and she wondered if she had spoken aloud.

"You are probably wondering why I've asked to speak with you," Dumbledore began. She nodded. "Madam Pince has alerted me that you have requested subscriptions to certain obscure journals?" He gazed at her intently, and Hermione had the uncomfortable realization that Dumbledore was a powerful man, indeed. She tried to speak, but found that her voice had deserted her.

"Yes, Professor," she finally managed. "I wanted to look something up but noticed that none of the journals in the library contained what I was searching for, so I asked Madam Pince if we could obtain a copy." Hermione wondered now if this was the unknown rule she had broken.

"May I ask, Miss Granger, why you want these journals in particular? They are – most uncommon, and I would not think that the extensive collection in the Hogwarts library is lacking anything you might need for your classes." Dumbledore's tone was kind, inquiring, but Hermione could sense the alertness and hints of steel behind it.

"Oh," Hermione said, daring to hope that she was not in trouble. "They're not for my classes, exactly. Professor Snape mentioned a research project he worked on, and I merely wanted to read his published findings, but – none of the Potions journals in the library contained anything by Professor Snape."

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised in surprise. "I see," he said, resting his hands on the battered table. "So am I to understand, Miss Granger, that you merely wanted to read Professor Snape's articles for your own enjoyment?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered. "Although I'd be doing much more than simply enjoying them – Professor Snape is so intelligent, and I'm sure that whatever he's been working on is highly advanced magic. I have so much to learn."

Hermione hoped that her request would be granted. After all, anyone could tell that Professor Snape was one of the most brilliant wizards at Hogwarts. He knew his subject inside and out, and as a fellow intellectual, Hermione was in awe of his vast knowledge base – even if his social skills left something to be desired. Dumbledore stared at Hermione for a long time, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was looking into her very soul. Seeming to have found what he was looking for, Dumbledore finally nodded.

"Very well, Miss Granger, I will tell Madam Pince to approve your request. However-" he tilted his head down to pin her with a serious look over the edge of his spectacles, "I must ask you to use discretion when you are reading these journals. Many of the articles pertain to highly advanced – in some cases, highly _dark_ – magic, and I would not want the information to fall into another student's hands. Your word?"

"Of course, Professor," Hermione breathed. She was beyond thrilled to be trusted this much by the Headmaster. She would make sure that he never regretted this decision.

"Excellent. Madam Pince will send you a note once they have arrived." Dumbledore began to stand, but Hermione remembered her other question regarding Snape's work.

"Sir – why is it that Professor Snape's work isn't published in any of the major Potions journals? Surely, the research he's doing…"

Dumbledore sank back down onto the bench. "Ah, as to that – I'm afraid that not everyone in the Wizarding world has as high an opinion of Professor Snape as you and I. He is only published in the less reputable journals because they are the only ones willing to accept his work." Dumbledore sounded very sad and Hermione was shocked by this news.

"But, sir – he's brilliant! I'm quite certain that his work on combining Transfiguration with Potions could have unprecedented advancements in the Mediwizard field, and his extended Wolfsbane potion could help so many people! I don't understand-"

"Ah, well, Miss Granger, I'm sorry to say that not everyone feels the same way as you do," Dumbledore smiled gently at her. "Although I must say it is refreshing to hear one of his students come to his defense." Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought she heard him mutter "for once" at the end of his sentence.

Hermione looked at Dumbledore, confused. "Well, he's not exactly pleasant, is he, but I would think his skill and intelligence would be enough to overcome a simple lack of friendliness."

Dumbledore reached out to clasp Hermione's hand with his own, a broad smile now adorning his face. "Miss Granger, I regret to say that it is more complex than a matter of friendliness. However, I hope that you can maintain your admiration for our dear Potions Master for as long as you are here." Dumbledore stood and turned to leave, looking back at Hermione once to add, "Enjoy your journals."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hats off to the marvelous WeasleySeeker, my beta. I'm sure by now you're wondering if this is really J.K. Rowling in disguise, but alas, it is not. Aconite is used in the Wolfsbane Potion. **


	4. Chapter 3: Lacewing Flies

**October 1992**

Snape stalked silently down the sixth floor corridor, looking for anything that seemed out of place. It was his night to patrol the hallways after curfew, a task he did not relish. He could only hope he discovered an out-of-bed Gryffindor or two: handing out detentions was the only way to make his patrols bearable. Tonight, however, it seemed he would be disappointed – he was nearing the end of his rounds and he had yet to come across any rule-breakers. Moving swiftly past an empty classroom on his way back to the dungeons, he paused, tilting his head to listen. If he was not mistaken, there was someone in the room.

Easing the door open, Snape tried to decide whether two or three nights of detention would be better. Then he heard the sniffles. Sliding into the room and shutting the door without making a sound, he looked around for the source of the pathetic noise. Finally, he located a girl huddled in a chair, her head on the desk, clearly crying. Dragging a hand down his face, he sighed. He did not do well with crying girls, and what was more, this wasn't just any girl. Only one girl would seek solace in a classroom; only one girl would sit at her seat in the front row to cry.

Striding forward, Snape came to a stop in front of the desk, facing Hermione Granger. Her face was buried in her arms, and her tiny shoulders were shaking, causing the mass of curls on her head to positively vibrate. Odd, but he hardly pegged her for the emotional sort. Perhaps she had received a lower mark on an assignment than she thought she'd deserved. Snorting in disdain, Snape nodded. Yes, she had most likely been upset by something school-related.

"Miss Granger, I believe our school rules are quite clear," he said, bored with this situation and wanting to get back to his rooms. She stiffened but did not look up. "No students are allowed out of their dormitories after-hours. I should think that someone of your obsessive nature would have memorized these rules and would therefore not so blatantly disobey them." There, that would get her up and moving.

Slowly lifting a tear-stained face up to him, the girl merely looked at him. Snape felt an unwelcome sensation of sympathy and ruthlessly crushed it. "I will have to deduct ten points from Gryffindor, I'm afraid," Snape said, his tone suggesting that he was actually quite pleased. "Now off you go, or it shall be detention."

But still the girl remained in her seat, staring at Snape with great, watery eyes. Finally, she spoke, her trembling voice echoing through the stillness of the room. "He called me a – a – Mudblood." She stated it baldly, coldly, detached.

Flinching slightly at her unemotional use of the word, Snape decided to at least get the full story from her. "Who called you a Mu- that word?" he asked, crossing his arms and knowing what was coming.

"Draco," she whispered, dropping her eyes to the desk. "He called me a Mudblood," she repeated, and this time her voice hitched as tears started to trickle down her face anew.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Snape wondered why he was even considering doing what he was about to do. He was not a nice man, nor did he particularly care for anyone closely associated with Potter, but he could not bring himself to let Draco Malfoy so upset this girl. Sighing again, he looked down at Hermione. "Well, Miss Granger, in that case I will only deduct five points from Gryffindor, and… you may stay here until you have regained your composure," he said, watching her eyes widen in surprise. "But then it is back to your dormitory, do you understand?" When she nodded, Snape gave her a curt nod in return before exiting the room.

.oOo.

Hermione was still frozen to her seat with shock when Professor McGonagall entered the classroom a minute later. Snape had been… well, not _nice_, but nicer than usual. She was further surprised when McGonagall spoke.

"Miss Granger, Severus said you might need someone to talk to?"

Snape had really sought out Professor McGonagall and told her that Hermione was crying? Why would he do that? Shaking her head to clear the jumbled thoughts, Hermione looked at her Head of House, and tears spilled forth once more.

"Oh, Professor McGonagall, Draco Malfoy, he – he – " but she could not continue. Putting her head back on her arms, her whole body shook with the humiliated sobs. She felt McGonagall's hand on her shoulder and dimly heard the sound of a chair scraping the floor as it was pulled closer.

"Yes, my dear, Severus told me what he said," McGonagall murmured in a reassuring manner, sitting down with her hand still on Hermione's shoulder. "Words, whether spoken carelessly or deliberately, do so have the power to wound, do they not?"

Taking a deep breath and trying to slow her crying, Hermione sat up, nodding. "It's just – I work so hard to prove that I deserve to be here, too," she whispered. "But it's still not good enough for some people."

"Miss Granger, you must not let Draco affect you so," McGonagall soothed. "He knows not what he is saying. His home life is… well, Draco was not raised in a house filled with love, let us just say that," the older woman said. "Draco's father is cruel and difficult to live with, to say the least. I would not doubt that he is verbally abusive to his wife and son, and I would not envy being subjected to his stinging remarks on a daily basis," McGonagall explained, staring towards the front of the room with a bitter expression on her face. Hermione was surprised that Professor McGonagall would know so much about the Malfoys, but she supposed there was much that the Deputy Headmistress was privy to.

"Poor Draco," Hermione sighed. "But that still doesn't give him an excuse to call me a Mudblood!" She missed the way that McGonagall twitched when she said it.

"I quite agree, Miss Granger, but we must try not to judge Draco too harshly," she said.

"That's easy for you to say!" Hermione exclaimed, suddenly angry. "No one has ever called you a 'filthy little Mudblood'!" Hermione's hands clenched into fists on the desk.

McGonagall looked down, and her lips compressed into a thin line. As though coming to a decision, she turned to face Hermione and began to speak quickly, not quite meeting her eyes.

"No, you are right, Miss Granger," she said. "But, I have - referred to someone as a Mudblood." The last word was no more than a whisper, and Hermione gasped.

"You? But you're… you're…" Hermione was at a loss for words. How could someone like Professor McGonagall ever have called someone such a terrible name? Stunned, Hermione just stared. McGonagall finally met her eyes.

"Yes, Miss Granger, it is true. I was young and foolish… angry and embarrassed," she went on. "Which is no excuse, however. I regretted it nearly the moment it left my lips, and it haunts me to this day," McGonagall finished sadly, gazing out the window into the darkened sky.

"Oh, Professor, I'm so sorry," Hermione said softly. "But it was a mistake, anyone can see-"

"The worst part," McGonagall continued as though she hadn't heard Hermione. "The worst part is that I – I said it to my very best friend."

Hermione and Professor McGonagall sat in silence. Tears were once again running down Hermione's face, but now they were for the stark expression of regret in McGonagall's eyes. How difficult it must have been for her to tell Hermione this story! Hermione supposed even good people like McGonagall occasionally made terrible mistakes. They continued to sit quietly for several more minutes before McGonagall finally turned back to Hermione.

"So you see, Miss Granger," she said briskly, "although it was a horrible thing for Draco to say to you, there is always the possibility that he too will come to regret his words one day." McGonagall's voice was deeply sad, and Hermione felt compelled to reassure her as the professor had so recently done for her.

Putting a hand on McGonagall's arm, Hermione said, "Professor, I'm sure you did not mean to say it, and surely your friend forgave you when you apologized?"

McGonagall was staring intently at Hermione's hand, so she quickly removed it. "No, Miss Granger," McGonagall said wearily. "She did not forgive me when I apologized. Nor should she have – twas an awful thing to say, and I should not have done."

"Oh, well, then, did she ever forgive you? It must have been years ago now, surely you are friends once more?" Hermione asked.

"Unfortunately… not," McGonagall answered, and her pain was evident in her tone. "You see, she… died, a few years later, and I seriously doubt whether she had forgiven me even then." McGonagall bowed her head, and Hermione saw that her entire body was rigid. Hermione did not know whether it was from the remembered offense or the strain of telling a student the sordid tale.

"Oh!" Hermione was crying in earnest now, saddened for the toll this guilt had clearly taken on her favorite professor. "You must forgive yourself, then! It cannot be healthy to carry this with you for so long."

Giving a short bark of disdainful laughter, McGonagall lifted her head and looked at Hermione. "It is only fitting that I carry the guilt to this day," she said in a low voice. "I have spent my entire life since her death attempting to atone for my thoughtless actions." McGonagall stood and began to pace. "I know that you are hurting, and rightfully so. I beg of you, however – do not let this one incident forever affect your opinion of Draco Malfoy. If he knew the pain his words caused, as I do, then I feel certain he would not have spoken thus." McGonagall paused. "If I could go back, Miss Granger, I would never have let that word pass my lips."

Hermione sat, letting McGonagall's words sink in. Draco was an unpleasant boy, at best, but she supposed it would not do to dwell on his insult – his opinion of her meant nothing, anyway. Brushing the tears off her face, Hermione stood and walked towards Professor McGonagall. "Thank you for telling me," she said softly. "I will try to remember what you have said when I am dealing with Draco in the future."

"Very good, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, and she sounded extremely tired to Hermione. "I am glad that the biggest mistake of my youth can help someone in some way. Now it's off to bed with you – it is far past curfew by now." She ushered Hermione towards the door, but stopped her with a hand on her shoulder before they exited into the hallway. "Please keep this conversation between ourselves. I would ask that you not even share this with Potter and Weasley." Hermione nodded. "Oh, and Miss Granger? I am sure that you can appreciate how painful this memory is for me. You will understand if tomorrow I act as though this did not occur?"

"Yes, Professor, of course," Hermione said. "I will not mention it."

"Thank you. Goodnight," McGonagall said brusquely, back to her usual tone.

Hermione made a quick decision, and enveloped Professor McGonagall in a tight hug. She was deeply awed that McGonagall trusted her enough to share this story with her, and she was also deeply saddened by the toll it had clearly taken on the older woman. Hermione thought that no person deserved to live with that much guilt for one youthful indiscretion. Pulling away, Hermione began the journey back to Gryffindor Tower, moving quickly towards the staircase.

.oOo.

Snape watched as the tail of Hermione's robes whipped around the corner, still stunned at the girl's impulsive demonstration of affection. When was the last time anyone had hugged him? He honestly couldn't remember. Waving his wand to remove the effects of the Polyjuice Potion, he returned to his own appearance once more. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he walked slowly back to his quarters, replaying the past half hour in his head. How amazing it was to hear her say that he should not continue to blame himself!

He knew, however, that he had committed a terrible wrong that day in front of the lake, and if not for that one moment, he and Lily may have had a chance. He only hoped that his mistake would help Hermione in some way. The girl had been quite distraught at Draco's hurtful words, and no wonder. She was sensitive enough to her blood status as it was. Vowing to find a reason to give Draco a detention soon, Snape sped up in his trek to the dungeons, still marveling at the way a simple hug had managed to spread warmth over his entire body.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: My everlasting gratitude to WeasleySeeker. Lacewing flies are an ingredient in the Polyjuice Potion. Me, the creator of Harry Potter? Alas, still no. **


	5. Chapter 4: Mandrake

**June 1993**

"You have five minutes remaining, Miss Granger," Snape said, startling the girl. He watched, bored, as she hunkered even lower over her parchment and continued to scribble. He wondered why she bothered, when she had to know that he was just going to criticize everything she'd written.

Snape thought longingly of the research awaiting him in his private laboratory, and resisted the urge to toss Miss Granger from his classroom. After being un-Petrified, the girl had apparently been horrified at Dumbledore's announcement that exams were cancelled. She'd promptly set about pestering all the teachers until they agreed to administer her exams.

Even though she was now inflicting him with her presence for longer than was necessary, he was nevertheless pleased for the additional opportunity to point out all her mistakes. She was too arrogant, by far, and besides, she reminded him uncomfortably of himself. Dumbledore had gathered all of Hermione's professors and encouraged them to take it easy on the girl, looking beseechingly at Snape as he had done so. Snape nearly chuckled out loud – as if he would give the annoying Gryffindor student an easy time just because of what she'd been through? She was the one who had demanded to take her exams, after all. No, he knew exactly what she needed right now, and an embarrassingly easy exam was not it.

Standing, he moved towards the bushy cloud bent low over the desk. Her hair almost seemed to emit its own gravitational pull, as he found himself wanting to pat her and tell her that she did not have to constantly prove herself to everyone. Which was ridiculous, of course – he never patted anyone.

"Time is up," he said from right next to her, and he enjoyed the way she jumped. Holding out a hand for her exam, he noted with amusement the way she was still writing as she lifted it towards him. No doubt adding unnecessary and irrelevant details to an already too-long answer.

"Very well, Miss Granger, let us see how you've done," he drawled. "Ah, so disappointing, but I notice right away that you've mislabeled one of the ingredients in the Swelling Solution-"

"But sir, aconite is just another name for monkshood-"

Snape did not allow her to finish her protest. "-and, oh dear, but I see here that you have suggested using a pewter cauldron for quicker brewing times instead of bronze, which is naturally incorrect-"

"I crossed pewter out! Look, bronze is written right there-"

He was enjoying this immensely. "-and I see you've forgotten a crucial step in the proper brewing of Polyjuice Potion-"

"We haven't even covered Polyjuice-"

"Is that so?" Snape stared into her eyes, one eyebrow raised. "I suppose that explains, then, why your batch did not turn out correctly, doesn't it, Miss Granger?"

"I – ah, I have no idea what you mean, sir," Hermione said, finally ceasing her protests and failing to maintain eye contact.

"Indeed? Allow me to enlighten you then. Certain ingredients necessary for brewing Polyjuice were taken from my private stores. Nearly a month later, two of my Slytherins were found robeless and shoeless in a broom closet. And at the same time, a certain Gryffindor know-it-all was found in the Hospital Wing, looking remarkably feline."

He was watching her face closely for any sign of guilt, and was rewarded when she paled considerably. However, her voice did not waver when she responded. "That all seems very coincidental, Professor," she said, daring to meet his eyes. "I assure you, however, that I merely wound up on the wrong end of a Weasley prank."

Snape resisted the urge to smile. He knew quite well that she'd brewed the Polyjuice, _and _that she'd done it right. She could hardly correct him on her exam, however, without admitting to illegally brewing the potion. She was trapped, and they both knew it. It was the reason he'd included the question about Polyjuice on the test.

"I see. Well, since you have _clearly_ not brewed any Polyjuice Potion, that explains why your instructions for the potion are considerably lacking in detail." Scanning her exam once more, he replaced it in front of her and scribbled a note on the top. "I believe an Acceptable is in order. You may go."

He saw her eyes widen in indignation. No doubt her other professors had all lavished her with Outstandings and high praise of her abilities, but Snape knew she was already aware of her abilities and wanted – needed – more of a challenge in her schoolwork. It was one of the reasons he pushed her so hard in his class.

"I – but – Professor – Polyjuice wasn't even on the curriculum for this class, it's an O.W.L.-level potion, I hardly think I should be graded-"

"Miss Granger," Snape said, using his best tone of condescension. "If you felt that the exam was too difficult for you, I would be only too happy to prepare something else. I believe I have a spare copy of my exam for first-years, in fact."

"It wasn't difficult, I just didn't want to seem too knowledgeable about-" she hastily caught herself, looking at him to see if he'd caught her slip. "Ah, I mean…"

Snape allowed a rare smile to cross his face. "Let us be quite frank, Miss Granger," he said. "You will continue to receive low grades for as long as you attempt to hide your abilities in my class. Anyone who chooses to mock you for your intelligence is not worth your regard."

"Even you, sir?" She was staring at him intently. Inwardly wincing, he recalled every time he directed a nasty comment at her in class. It was only because he wanted her to work harder, he reasoned with himself.

"Especially me, Miss Granger," he murmured. "Now get out of my classroom before I decide you've merited a Poor."

If he expected her to cry or complain, he was sorely mistaken. The cheeky girl merely grinned at him before scooping up her parchment and bookbag and heading for the door. He was about to exhale in relief for having ridded her so easily when she turned to address him once more.

"Thank you, Professor. Have a happy summer."

"Out!" he growled, but he was close to smiling, nonetheless.

.oOo.

Hermione practically skipped back to the Great Hall where all her things were packed and waiting. Her Potions exam had been the very last one before the train was to arrive and she'd left her trunk with Harry and Ron. They hadn't understood why she wanted to sit her exams, but then, Harry and Ron rarely understood why she did anything.

Hard work was what calmed her and gave her a feeling of accomplishment. After she'd woken up from being Petrified, she had wanted nothing more than to put the horrible experience behind her, but how could she do that when Dumbledore was prepared to pat everyone on the head and send them home? So, she'd convinced all of her professors to give her their exams, anyway. Studying and catching up had returned her to her usual state of mind, as well as stopped the nightmares.

_If only the others had taken my exam seriously, like Professor Snape_, she thought. Professor Flitwick had merely asked her to pronounce "Wingardium Leviosa" – just pronounce it, not even cast it – before declaring her to have obtained an O in Charms. Professor Sprout awarded her an O as soon as she'd walked into the greenhouse and donned her protective gloves – according to her, the aborted Herbology exam had been all about safety procedures. The other professors were no different, and Hermione saw right through them.

Grateful as she was for their support, she couldn't help wishing that they'd taken her request more seriously. She had hoped that perhaps Professor McGonagall might actually test her knowledge, but no: her Transfiguration exam contained just one question, "Name five objects that one might Transfigure into other objects." It was appallingly easy.

But Professor Snape – well, he had certainly pushed her to her limits, and beyond. His Potions exam was comprehensive and detailed, forcing her to remember every single thing she'd learned that year, and then some. She'd known when she'd seen the Polyjuice Potion that he must have realized what she'd done earlier in the year, so she'd deliberately answered incorrectly, hoping to mislead him. Of course, he had probably realized what she'd done, but she smiled when she remembered how he'd told her that he wasn't impressed by her attempts at playing dumb. His sarcastic comments and unfair markdowns on her exam had almost led her to believe he might not despise her as much as he claimed, for surely he knew how much it meant to her to be encouraged to work harder?

All thoughts of Professor Snape and her exams were driven away, though, when she entered the Great Hall and joined her friends for their last lunch of the school year.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Cheers to WeasleySeeker, a goddess among mortals! This chapter's title is pretty self-explanatory. I'm still poor and my writing sounds like a deranged kangaroo's compared to Ms. Rowling's, so please don't mistake the two. **


	6. Chapter 5: Belladonna

**September 1993**

"Miss Granger, sit down, this will not take long," Snape ordered as Hermione entered his classroom tentatively. Not bothering to check whether she had followed his directions, he continued setting out the supplies needed for his first class after lunch. Giving the long tables one more inspection, he was satisfied that everything was in order. Striding back to his desk, he folded his long frame into the chair and stared at Hermione.

"Now, just so we are quite clear, I am not in favor of this foolish scheme," he growled in his best impatient tone. "But as Minerva has, shall we say, _encouraged_ me to participate, I have made certain arrangements." He had a sinking feeling that this was going to be far more trouble for him than he cared to take on, but he had had little choice in the matter.

"Thank you, Professor," came Hermione's soft voice. "I appreciate the opportunity and will do my best not to disappoint you." The earnestness pouring off her in waves was making him feel even more irritated.

"Yes, well, it is too late for that already, Miss Granger," he drawled before standing up, both hands palm-down on the surface of the desk. "Come with me."

He led her over to a back corner of the classroom. She followed him uncertainly, stopping several steps away from him. Trying not to roll his eyes, he beckoned her closer, and she obeyed with a confused look in her eyes.

"Oh!" Hermione had stepped past the boundary of his Disillusionment Charm and could now see the small workspace he had set up for her. Walking around the desk, one hand trailing on the wood, he could see that she was already full of questions. He attempted to head her off.

"This will be your corner. The other students are not to know that you are taking this class. You will arrive ten minutes early and get settled. As long as you are within the boundaries of the charms, the others will not be able to see nor hear you. That means," Snape hurried on, as her mouth was opening on a question, "you will not be able to ask me questions during class," he said, enjoying the look of consternation flitting across her features. "I realize it will be difficult for you," he added, "but I expect you to follow these simple rules without hesitation. If you should need assistance, simply raise your hand, and I will be able to see you."

"What about my ingredients, Professor?" Hermione asked him.

"I will have everything set out for you prior to your arrival in class," Snape answered. He then moved to the door of the classroom, holding it open for her. "I believe we are done here," he snapped, gesturing for her to exit to the hallway. "And it would behoove you to remember that you are enrolled in this class on the basis of my agreement, which I will not hesitate to revoke should you cause any problems."

Hermione merely nodded, said 'thank you' again, and headed out of the classroom. Exhaling sharply, Snape wondered just how long it would take her to annoy him to the point of expelling her from the class.

.oOo.

Hermione slipped into the Potions classroom on her first day of O.W.L.-level Potions. In addition to her extra third-year courses, Professor McGonagall had also arranged with Professor Snape for Hermione to take the fifth-year class with the help of her Time-Turner. Hermione excelled in Potions, so it was only natural to her that she get a head start on her O.W.L. studies.

Unfortunately, Snape had been particularly nasty about the entire arrangement, shooting her disdainful glares at every opportunity. He had also set up this humiliating little corner in his classroom for her. Invisible, unable to be heard by anyone, shoved into the back of the room – yes, Snape had made it very clear what he thought about her. Trying not to become too annoyed at this, Hermione set her bag down and began to inspect the supplies sitting on the small lab table. She jumped when Snape's voice sounded right behind her.

"Do you not trust me to provide all the necessary ingredients, Miss Granger? Tsk, tsk, such little faith," he whispered as he glided past her and into the main part of the classroom.

Not bothering to answer him – he couldn't hear her, anyway – Hermione sat on the stool and looked around the classroom. It was still five minutes until class started, and no one ever arrived at Snape's class early if they knew what was good for them. Sighing, Hermione wondered just how this was going to work. She could hardly see the blackboard and the instructions written on it.

Deciding to test the charms around her workspace, she called out, "Professor?" He gave no indication that he heard her, however. She raised her hand and waited patiently. She thought he must have noticed, because he quickly turned his back to her and made himself busy with some sheaves of parchment. Growing irritated, she lazily waved her hand back and forth in the air. She froze when the fifth-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws began to enter the classroom, but, amazingly, no one paid her any attention. Lowering her hand, she sat up straighter on her stool and pulled her parchment to her, ready to take notes on her first day of O.W.L. lessons.

* * *

><p><strong>November 1993<strong>

The first term was halfway over now, and Hermione had grown accustomed to sitting silently in Snape's fifth-year Potions class. She missed being able to ask questions as they popped into her head, but there was something soothing about the hour spent working in silence: the hiss of her cauldron and the tap-tap of her knife providing a sort of quiet music in her solitary corner.

Besides, they had worked out a system. Hermione would write her questions onto a charmed piece of parchment, which was linked to a matching piece on Snape's desk. Periodically throughout his lectures, he would check the parchment and respond to her questions, making sure to slip answers into his monologue as though he had planned to address the reasons one would not wish to use a silver stirring rod with troll blood or a history of the debate amongst the magical community over differing methods for optimum mistletoe berry harvest. If any of the students seemed confused by these sometimes-peculiar interruptions to Snape's lectures, they were too afraid to question it, which suited Hermione just fine.

That was another aspect of the class that took some getting used to: Snape was far less vindictive and surly with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws than he had ever been with the Gryffindors. He could never be described as pleasant, but the experience of Potions classes without the incessant House point deductions and pointed insults was extremely appealing. Maybe, if she could find a way to join this class for N.E.W.T.s instead of her own, she would even consider additional Potions study after Hogwarts.

There was no denying that Professor Snape was, quite frankly, brilliant. She had known he was a Potions mastermind before she even arrived at Hogwarts, obviously – she had read everything she could get her hands on about her professors the summer before arriving at school. She liked to know what to expect. However, getting to see this more relaxed side of Snape – it was a revelation. He was clever, yes, but he also possessed an intuitive understanding of potion-making that Hermione could only dream about. She had even subscribed to Potions Quarterly, intrigued despite herself when he had mentioned his published research, only remembering later that he was not published in any of the major journals.

He, too, seemed to have come to accept her presence, and her supplies were always meticulously laid out when she arrived to the dungeon classroom. They even had a – dare she say – _cordial _routine when she entered the room early each day: she would smile and nod, sometimes giving him a small wave, and he would briefly incline his head back at her. It wasn't much, but it was certainly better than the first few weeks of class, where he had scowled at her when she arrived and glared at her as she left.

Today was the first day of the term where the air displayed the first hints of cool, crisp autumn temperatures. Hermione was busy fumbling with her warmer outer cloak while the other students were arriving, which was why she did not notice the problem with her ingredients until class had already started. Checking everywhere on her desk, as well as the surrounding floor area in case it had somehow rolled off, Hermione huffed out an annoyed breath and began the search a second time.

.oOo.

Snape quashed the impulse to roll his eyes as Hermione frantically pawed through her belongings in the back corner. Honestly, what had gotten into the girl? Clearing his throat, he ordered everyone to pay attention, as he did not wish to repeat himself at a later time. The fifth-year students all looked around confusedly, since they _had_ all been paying attention.

Hermione sat up, crossing her arms and glaring at him in an irritated manner that was somewhat overshadowed by the ridiculous way her hair had escaped its tie and was now flopping into her face. He watched as she scribbled furiously on her parchment before continuing with his lecture. After concluding his instructions and stating his typical "You have one hour", Snape strode back to his desk and peered down at the paper where Hermione's words had appeared.

**Professor, you seem to have forgotten **(she had scratched this out, clearly deciding not to antagonize him)** I seem to be missing the vial of Hippogriff sweat, without which I will be unable to complete my potion. Help please. **

Understanding now why she had been rummaging around, Snape nearly smiled. Yes, it would be driving her crazy that she thought she would be unable to successfully brew her potion, even though she was not being graded in this class. Bending down, he wrote her back.

**Miss Granger, consider this an excellent opportunity to test out your admittedly feeble potion-making instincts. The brew can still be adequately concocted with the supplies I have laid out for you as well as some of the ingredients in your standard potion kit. I expect you to submit your completed potion at the end of class… which is now fifty-two minutes away. **

He watched as she read his reply, her face flushing and her brows contracting so they were nearly touching. Oh, yes, she was angry with him. Hermione was excellent at following instructions, but painfully in need of some practical experience with improvisation. He hardly even felt bad for forgetting the Hippogriff sweat when he saw how aggravated she was becoming. Shooting him her meanest glare, she got to work slicing and chopping her ingredients while her cauldron heated. Snape began to pace around the classroom, inspecting the other students' work, stopping here and there to correct a technique or criticize a potion in progress.

He nearly jumped when a chime sounded from right next to his head. Whipping around, he could not see the cause of the disturbance, until – oh, yes, Hermione had her hand raised from the corner. He had forgotten that he'd set up the chime alert for when she raised her hand to request assistance – after they had solved the issue of the parchment for her questions on his lectures, she hadn't had the need. She was a capable brewer… unless, of course, one had left out an important ingredient.

Snape smirked before turning his back on her and continuing around the classroom. Then the chime sounded again. He whirled and gave her his frostiest glare, a glare which had on numerous occasions caused lesser students to burst into tears. Hermione, he had learned, was not a lesser student. Staring mutinously back at him, she thrust her hand into the air repeatedly, no doubt aware that she was causing a most annoying ruckus in his ear. Try as he might to ignore the chimes, their constant ringing eventually wore him down, and he stalked to her corner, pretending to search the nearby shelves for an ingredient.

"Yes?" he hissed.

"I. Need. The. Hippogriff. Sweat," she spat.

"And I have told you, you do not," he answered in a similar tone before striding away. He hadn't taken three steps, though, before the incessant chiming started again. Waving his wand, he dismantled the alert, smirking nastily in her direction. _Let that be a lesson to you_, he thought. He continued to move through the classroom, checking on other students and refusing to look towards Hermione's corner. She would figure it out eventually, he was certain.

There were just ten minutes remaining before the end of class when he started to smell something foul. Looking in his immediate vicinity, all he saw were correct or mostly-correct potions. Glancing up as the odor became stronger, he realized that the students were all looking around for the source of the stench as well. Moving towards the front of the room where he would have a better vantage point, he saw something that momentarily caused his heart to stop: Hermione's corner was full of thick, green smoke. It was so thick he couldn't even see the foolish girl. As the smoke began to seep out of the Disillusioned area, the horrific smell increased tenfold, and the other students started to cough and point to the corner.

"Quiet!" Snape called out. "No doubt this is the work of Peeves – finish your potions and place your vials on my desk. Now!" He began to move towards the corner, hoping the ridiculous girl hadn't seriously injured herself. He knew immediately that she must have stirred twice clockwise instead of four times counter-clockwise, and he wondered how she had managed to make such an amateur mistake. He almost wondered if she had done it on purpose.

As he neared the corner, the smoke around Hermione's head started to clear, and he saw with relief that she was alright. McGonagall would never have forgiven him if he'd managed to injure her star student. In the next instant, though, Hermione's face twisted into a triumphant smile, and his suspicions that she'd done it on purpose were confirmed when she mouthed, "Oops!"

Snape halted, glaring at the impudent slip of a girl. Not bothering to look back at the class, he dismissed them all. Once the last student had scampered out the door to the relative freshness of the hallway, he removed the charms from her corner and began to berate her.

"Are you out of your mind?" he growled at her. "Have you any idea how gravely you might have injured yourself? Do you not have a basic grasp on standard potion-making procedures? I will have you know that disgusting odor is going to linger for at least a week. The substitution for Hippogriff sweat is a simple matter of mixing juice from a doxy with two pinches of ground belladonna!" His tirade left him slightly out of breath.

The irritating girl just looked back at him calmly. "Oh, dear, a week? How terrible. I suppose it's my atrocious lack of potion-making instincts at work. I should probably have never been left to improvise. Tsk, tsk." Hermione did not look the least bit repentant. In fact, unless he was mistaken, she was quite gleeful at the thought of his classroom reeking like rotting garbage that had been sprayed by a skunk. Placing a vial on her work surface, she said, "Oh, and here's my _real _potion, which I _did _manage to make correctly." Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she moved past him. "And Professor, thank you for your concern about my gravely injuring myself. It makes me feel so good to know you care."

Snape was too angry to respond, instead trying to kill her with the intensity of his glare as she pranced out of his classroom. He was going to speak to Minerva about this arrangement – it simply was not working. Vanishing the supplies from her workstation, he roughly grabbed her vial of potion, uncorking it. The blasted girl had somehow managed to not only correctly brew it with the substitute ingredients, but she still had time to spare in which to create the monstrosity that was going to fill his nose for the rest of the week. He bloody hated Gryffindors – _especially_ the clever ones.

* * *

><p><strong>February 1994<strong>

The unrelenting cold of February rendered the dungeons into a truly miserable place to spend any length of time. Unfortunately, Potions classes continued, and Snape refused to allow the students to wear gloves or mittens – it was essential that their hands and fingers remain free of obstructions when they were chopping and mixing. Students huddled close to their burners, hunched in their warmest cloaks.

Hermione had taken to conjuring one of her specialty blue flames to keep her corner warm. Snape admired her resourcefulness even as he wished there was someone, _anyone_, other than her who demonstrated even half her brains. Today's lesson was a repeat of the one from the last class, since only Hermione and two Ravenclaws had managed to submit passable potions. As such, he was revisiting the proper ingredient selection and order of addition procedures, explaining to the students where they had all managed to go awry.

After completing his lecture, Snape ordered the class to try their hands at the potion once more. He walked between the tables, checking on progress, hoping that their second attempts would prove more successful. He hadn't paid any attention to Hermione, since he knew she didn't need the additional instruction, so it was halfway through classtime before he glanced over and saw that she was sound asleep at her desk.

Bristling at her complete lack of respect, he strode over, intent on delivering a stinging reprimand. However, once he'd neared her corner, he saw that she was not only asleep, but practically in a coma. He wondered when the dark circles had appeared under her eyes. Looking at her desk, he noticed she had spent the time working ahead on what was supposed to be this week's potion. He also noticed the small silver hourglass chain, usually concealed by her robes. Stopping short, he remembered that she was only in this class because McGonagall had procured a Time-Turner for her. She was generally so unfailingly energetic that he had quite forgotten about her ridiculous schedule.

Hesitating now, Snape wondered whether he should wake her. He remembered with painful clarity his own two years spent using the Time-Turner to take additional classes, and shook his head slightly. He wouldn't even wish that sort of stress on Potter. Well, maybe Potter.

Gently removing the quill from her hand, Snape backed away from Hermione's corner. She hardly needed the extra instruction he was providing today, and working ahead was, while admirable, also unnecessary. He decided to let her sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: WeasleySeeker is our king! And my beta! I took some liberty with potions ingredients in this chapter – I've no idea whether doxy juice and ground belladonna is an appropriate substitute for Hippogriff sweat, but the good news is, neither do any of my Harry Potter reference sites, so I'm not technically defying canon. I chose belladonna as the title for this chapter because it's rumored to be "a favorite of the devil" and I think Hermione's being a bit devilish in parts of this chapter. Oh, did I mention? I don't own any of this except maybe parts of the plot… and even then I'm not sure.**


	7. Chapter 6: Runespoor Eggs

**March 1994**

Snape rapped sharply on the door before entering Dumbledore's office. For once, he was entirely unsure why he'd been summoned.

"Ah, Severus! Please, sit down," Dumbledore greeted him cheerfully. Very well, so he was not being chastised for unfair treatment of Gryffindors or anything of that nature. Perhaps Lupin was unable to continue in his role as Defense teacher? Snape sat stiffly, knowing that it was pointless to try and rush the Headmaster.

"How are your classes?" Dumbledore idly stirred his tea, tilting his head and looking at Snape as though they were just out for a chat.

"The same as when you asked me last week during dinner," Snape replied.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, and they fell silent. Snape continued to stare at the Headmaster, counting in his head: _3… 2… 1… _

"I was wondering, Severus, how Miss Granger is liking her O.W.L. Potions?" One corner of Snape's mouth lifted. Dumbledore was irritatingly predictable.

"You would have to ask her," Snape said. "If that is all?" He started to stand, but Dumbledore waved him back to his seat.

"Forgive me. I meant to ask how the arrangement is working for both of you."

Snape was hesitant to answer truthfully. He did not wish for Hermione to get into any trouble, even if she was annoying to no end. The spunky girl had never once mentioned their current arrangement to Snape, and they both acted as though nothing had changed.

Finally, he spoke. "I believe it is quite satisfactory to us both." He hoped that would be enough for Dumbledore, but he knew better.

"Indeed? Color me surprised, Severus. I never would have guessed that you would come to accept a third-year student in your O.W.L. class. Miss Granger must really be doing an excellent job."

"Ah, yes," Snape answered. "Quite… excellent." It pained him to say the word.

"Well, go on then, you must tell me what potions she's mastered!" Dumbledore looked as happy as a child on their birthday.

Snape eyed him with a look usually reserved for Longbottom. "Oh, very well, if you must know, she is using the class time to catch up on her sleep," Snape growled.

When Dumbledore's grin merely widened, Snape knew that Dumbledore had already suspected as much.

"She fell asleep during a lecture several weeks ago," Snape explained. "She seemed quite exhausted and, as it was a repeat lecture to address a dismal homework performance from her classmates, it was of no consequence for her to hear it again. Ever since, I have provided her with the notes from class that day, and she has completed her homework correctly, if not the actual brewing." Snape crossed his arms and dared Dumbledore to admonish him with a stern look.

"I see," the Headmaster said instead. "So Miss Granger has been sleeping during your class for the past several weeks?"

"That is what I have just said," Snape snarled.

"That does explain her sudden recurrence of energy," Dumbledore mused. "I, too, had noticed how pale and tired she looked, and tried to convince Minerva to repossess the Time-Turner, but alas, she would not hear of it. Something about how it would seem like doubt in Hermione's abilities." Snape nodded his head once.

"She has continued to surpass my expectations as far as her tests and assignments are concerned," Snape assured him. "She has not brewed any of the recent potions, but then, she will have a chance when she takes the O.W.L. course legitimately in two years."

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore agreed.

"If we're done…"

"Actually, Severus, I did have one more question." Snape knew the look in Dumbledore's eyes well enough to know he would not like this question. "Why show the girl this compassion?"

"You mean, why is the evil Slytherin being nice to the innocent little Gryffindor?" Snape muttered.

"No, my boy, that is not what I meant," Dumbledore smiled at him. "You are, shall we say, infamous for your adherence to certain strict procedures in your classroom, and I merely wondered why you were allowing Miss Granger to sleep during your lectures."

Snape stood and looked down at Dumbledore, knowing their discussion was over. "I allow it because I wish someone had shown me the same consideration during my third and fourth years, when I too was using the Time-Turner to complete all my work at night, instead of resting as I should have been." Dumbledore's grin widened and Snape spun to leave his office before Dumbledore could call him nice or something equally horrible.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The existence of this chapter is due entirely to my beta, WeasleySeeker, who came up with the idea and helped me round out my Year 3 stories. Runespoor eggs are used to increase mental agility, which Hermione is attempting to do all year. I own nothing you recognize. **


	8. Chapter 7: Griffin Claw

**December 1994**

She was going to do it. She was really going to do it… yes, she would march up there any minute now… _Bloody hell, I might as well be Petrified again_. For the last thirty minutes, the debate had been raging in Hermione's mind. Professor Snape was sitting at the faculty table, scowling at everyone and looking quite miserable. Despite the man's extreme unpleasantness, Hermione had always harbored a soft spot for the dour professor. Her caring nature was currently attempting to outweigh her logical side, which reminded her that Snape hated her.

Shaking herself, Hermione squared her shoulders. _Are you a Gryffindor or not? _Besides, Professor Snape couldn't actually _hate _her, could he? She was his best student, even if he would not admit it. His insult from several weeks prior drifted up to her consciousness, but she resolutely ignored it. Her teeth were fixed now, so he could hardly find fault. She stood, ignoring the boys' protests, and made her way to the staff table.

"Sir, would you like to dance with me?" Hermione mentally applauded the fact that her voice had not wavered as she addressed her professor, even though she was trembling and quite apprehensive. Harry had tried to dissuade her, but once Hermione had determined a course of action, she was rarely swayed. And in this particular instance – well, no one deserved to sit alone, a mere spectator to all the merriment of the Yule Ball.

Professor Snape turned to face Hermione squarely, his face a picture of annoyance. "No," he said succinctly. "I am already forced to endure too much of your presence in my class. I can hardly imagine why you would think I would welcome an opportunity to spend even more time with such an –"

Hermione cut him off before he could finish what was undoubtedly going to be an unpleasant evaluation of her character. "Professor… it's just that everyone else is dancing, and you were sitting here quite, ah, lonely."

Snape stared at her for several long moments, his black eyes boring into her own and making Hermione quite uncomfortable. However, she would not give him the satisfaction of backing down, not now. She raised her chin slightly and stared back. Eventually he spoke; slowly, as though explaining something to a young child: "Miss Granger… there is a marked difference between one sitting – quite happily – alone, and one being lonely. I suggest you learn to differentiate so that you do not similarly inconvenience another person in the future."

Hermione pressed her lips together, the only outward sign of her frustration. She hadn't spent the last fifteen minutes gathering her courage to come up here, only to be refused _and _insulted. Besides, he couldn't possibly enjoy sitting here by himself, could he? Even Snape must have _some _desire to partake of the festivities. Hermione set her chin and, ignoring Harry pulling on her sleeve, started again.

"I really think it would be," Hermione drew a deep breath before plunging on, "fun."

"Do you?" Snape's mouth curled in a derisive sneer. "How very quaint. And when have I ever given you the impression that anything involving myself could be termed 'fun', Miss Granger?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, Professor McGonagall cut in. "Actually, I think it sounds like a marvelous idea," she said, startling all of them. Hermione had been so busy meeting Snape's glare with one of her own that she had not noticed her Head of House's approach. Harry had apparently been watching the exchange with Snape and Hermione so closely that he had not seen McGonagall coming nearer, either, because he had jumped in surprise when she spoke and nearly tripped over Hermione's dress. Grabbing her arm for support, he righted himself, only to see Snape staring at the pair of them with disdain.

Snape did not look at Professor McGonagall. His eyes were still focused on Hermione as he replied, "I, however, do not. Now, if you annoying children will leave –"

"Severus." McGonagall's voice was stern as she addressed him. "Miss Granger has politely asked you to dance, and it would be quite rude indeed to continue to refuse." She stared at him over the tops of her glasses, and it seemed that even Snape was not immune to her commanding presence.

"Very well, Miss Granger, very well!" Snape snapped as he abruptly shoved his chair back and stood. "But do not confuse my reluctant agreement with willingness or enthusiasm."

"I hardly think there is any danger of _that, _Severus," McGonagall nearly smiled. "Potter – you will partner me for this song."

"I – what?" Harry, who had thus far been a silent observer in the entire exchange, blinked as he turned to look at McGonagall. It was obvious that he had processed her words, however, when he began to turn red a few seconds later. "I, ah, I don't, my date, you see…"

"As one of the Hogwarts champions, it is your duty to partner your Head of House," McGonagall did not seem to be offended by Harry's reaction. Seeming to take pity on him, she added, "I will only require one dance, Potter – and then you may return to your date and poor Mr. Weasley."

With that, Professor McGonagall held out her hand, and Harry, looking terrified, stepped forward to take it and follow her to the dance floor, leaving Hermione alone with a scowling Professor Snape.

"Well? You were so eager to achieve this outcome, Miss Granger, that I wonder why you are hesitating now. Your brain, which exhibits the foolish Gryffindor tendency to act before you think, has, it appears, finally caught up to you. However, it is too late, and now we must dance or Minerva will lecture me on the duties befitting my post, and I can assure you that I desire no such discussion." Snape stalked around the edge of the table and headed for the edge of the dance floor, not bothering to look back and see whether Hermione followed him or not.

Completely bemused, Hermione trailed behind the billowing black robes, registering as she did so that the band was beginning the opening notes of a formal waltz. Several summers ago, Hermione's parents had insisted that she take ballroom dancing lessons, arguing that surely even in the Wizarding world there was use for such knowledge. Hermione had agreed, and, as with everything else she set her mind to, excelled under the tutelage of a skilled dance master. The waltz did not worry her – she knew she could perform the steps in her sleep – but she did not know how she and Snape were going to manage the next six or seven minutes in each other's company.

Hermione was racking her brain for conversation topics when Snape halted and turned to face her, and she nearly walked right into him. She looked up, on the verge of apologizing, only to have the words die on the tip of her tongue at the expression of scorn on Snape's face. He beckoned her to stand facing him as the musicians launched into the song.

"Let us hope," whispered Snape contemptuously, "that you do not humiliate us both."

And with that, he swept her into his arms and began to move them across the floor.

.oOo.

It took all of Snape's self-control not to release the annoying chit and stalk off the floor this instant. He despised parties and all manners of frivolity. If he had been able, he would have departed the Yule Ball hours ago, after making his appearance for the feast, but Dumbledore had particularly emphasized that all of the Hogwarts professors were to remain for the entire evening. He had slunk off to a far table, hoping to avoid anyone's notice while still fulfilling Dumbledore's orders, and it was there that Miss Granger had found him. _Aggravating busybody_, he thought to himself. _Can't leave well enough alone. _Snape ruthlessly squashed the inner voice that was trying to point out how nice it had felt to be thought of, for once.

He continued to whirl them around the floor, not bothering to look at Hermione. He did not want to encourage any sort of closeness or conversation. Minerva was attempting to dance with Potter, but it appeared that she had had to seize control and was steering Potter around the floor rather stiffly. While he was navigating their way through the other dancers, he caught Dumbledore's wide smile of approval and Karkaroff's mocking sneer. Perhaps it would be better not to look around. He glanced down at the girl in his arms, noting for the first time that she had so far managed to keep up with him, and had not stepped on his toes at all.

Hermione's warm brown eyes, engaged in studying him like a particularly difficult potion, widened as she realized that he was now looking back. A faint flush crept up her cheeks, but Snape was amused to see that she did not look away – no, the girl merely raised one eyebrow as if to say, "Well?" Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to help himself, he used Legilimency to slip into her mind. He was sure she did not notice, for she continued to stare at him, rather too trustingly for Snape's liking. Ignoring an odd feeling of – what? satisfaction? challenge? – he gently probed her thoughts. He was immediately assailed by the internal argument she was apparently waging with herself as she studied him.

"_You did the right thing! NO ONE wants to sit out every single dance, no matter how unpleasant a person they are. He seemed so angry about it, though… maybe he really did want to be left alone… No! Christmas is a time of peace and joy, and this ball is supposed to bring us together. Oh, so are you going to ask Draco to dance next? Of… of course, I will, he's not… so… bad… Don't be silly, you are not going to ask Draco Malfoy to dance! You just saw Snape sitting there by himself and thought that he deserved a dance partner, too. So what if I did? He's not so horrible, really, when you take the time to look… I mean, his hair is quite lustrous, with the blue-black tint, and he's really quite an amazing dancer, and his eyes – they're quite… quite… intriguing, really…"_

Snape snapped out of Hermione's mind so abruptly that he must have made an odd motion, for she looked concerned as she asked him, "Professor, are you quite alright?"

"What do you think, Miss Granger? I have been coerced into dancing with a student whose presence I cannot abide," Snape snarled. "Added to that, the song you have chosen has turned out to be one of the longest this band has performed thus far this evening." The words came out more harshly than he intended, because he was still rather stunned from the revelations of Miss Granger's thoughts. He felt a pang of remorse as her eyes narrowed at his insult. _Now you've done it, _he hissed at himself. _She will surely abandon you mid-dance, and how is that going to look? _However, she merely turned her head until she was gazing at a point over his shoulder, her face set in a deceptively pleasant – but vacant – expression. He suspected that were he to enter her thoughts now, she would be listing every horrid thing she could think of about him, rather than reflecting on the intriguing shade of his eyes.

Snape gritted his teeth and continued to lead them around the other dancers. He noticed more than one pair of eyes watching them in astonishment, and he wanted to snap at each and every student who seemed to think that Hermione must be under the Imperius Curse to even consider dancing with him. The truth was, he appreciated that she had thought of him, although he did not enjoy making a spectacle of himself in such a way. He supposed it was her damnable habit of caring for creatures whom no one else seemed to care about. He had heard of her efforts for the house-elves, and had shaken his head in amazement. There was an exercise in futility if he had ever heard one.

He would not lie to himself, however – in this particular instance, he was glad of her protective nature, if only because she had forced him to waltz, an activity at which he was very skilled but rarely able to practice. Actually, she had performed admirably herself – she had not stumbled and was following his lead as though they had done this a thousand times. He decided to make up for his earlier outburst.

"You have yet to trod on my toes, Miss Granger," he drawled, secretly pleased when her eyes met his again. "It seems that you are not as abysmal at the waltz as your other schoolmates." He nodded towards Potter and Minerva, who was struggling to rebalance herself as Harry had just led them into the path of Hagrid and Madame Maxime. Hermione glanced their way for only a moment before turning her gaze back to a point in the distance.

"If that was a compliment, then thank you," she replied coolly.

"I –" Whatever Snape had been about to say was cut off by the last notes of the music. Across the floor, couples were breaking apart and heading back to their seats. Snape steered them towards the staff tables, releasing Hermione only once they reached the edge of the dance floor. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Snape did not know how to thank the girl for the dance that he had so ardently refused without revealing that he had quite enjoyed himself. Seeing Hermione's face turn from expectant to disappointed, however, he quickly bowed low over her hand, murmuring only, "Miss Granger." He stood and released her before he did something foolish – such as brush a kiss to the back of her hand like his instincts were telling him to. Scowling, he spun and headed for the entry hall, leaving Hermione with an "O" of surprise on her lips.

.oOo.

For the rest of the evening, Hermione found herself fending off question after question regarding her dance with Snape. _No, it wasn't a detention. Yes, I really did ask him myself. No, it wasn't the most horrible several minutes of my life. _Even Ron temporarily forgot he was cross with her, exclaiming, "Blimey, Hermione, you're braver than I thought!" Harry was still grumbling about being roped into a dance with Professor McGonagall, but Hermione secretly sympathized with McGonagall. She had looked put-upon to the extreme by the time the song had ended, and hurried away from Harry to the teachers' table to get a cup of punch, which Hermione was fairly certain contained Firewhisky.

Many of the Gryffindors seemed to think that Hermione had lost a bet, while several Slytherin students had informed her that it would take more than that to win extra points in Potions class. Hermione's embarrassment was only heightened when she turned away from shrilly snapping at a disbelieving Dean Thomas – "_No_, Dean, it wasn't horrible! Professor Snape is an excellent dancer and I thoroughly enjoyed myself!" – to see Professor Snape staring at her, eyebrows raised, silently laughing at her discomfort.

"How heartwarming, Miss Granger," he had jeered. "I had no idea you were such an ardent fan of mine." It was at this point that Hermione had stormed, as gracefully as she could, over to Viktor and demanded that they go for a stroll amongst the rosebushes outside. It was not until much later that evening, as Hermione lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the other girls giggling and whispering, that Hermione had a moment to herself to think about her now-infamous waltz.

Certainly, it had not been the most enjoyable moment of her life; they had not conversed, nor had they hardly even made eye contact – in fact, he had held her quite stiffly and at a distance. But… she still felt convinced that she had done the right thing by asking Snape to dance with her. As much he had protested, he had danced with an air of someone who was remembering enjoyment of an activity that they were rarely able to take part in. No, Hermione would not have changed her actions tonight, no matter how much teasing she was bound to experience over the next few days.

_And he really was an exceptional dancer, _she mused. _I never once had to worry about the next steps or bumping into anyone. _As she drifted off to sleep, she finally allowed herself to dwell on the end of their dance – the moment when she had been certain that Severus Snape was about to press a kiss to the back of her hand.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: These get pretty tedious, yeah? I'm still not J.K. Rowling, I'm still completely dependent on the positive feedback of my beta WeasleySeeker, and I'm still using obscure potion ingredients for chapter titles. Griffin claw is used in the Strengthening Solution, which is fitting as Hermione requires a great deal of strength in this chapter. **


	9. Chapter 8: Jobberknoll Feather

**June 1995**

Hermione examined the notice that had been distributed to every student that morning at breakfast. "Mourning a Loss", announced large letters at the top of the gray parchment. She barely registered Ron's snort of disdain as she scanned the rest of the sheet. It seemed that in the aftermath of Cedric's death, all of the Heads of House would be setting aside time for grief counseling, should any of the students wish to talk to them. Worrying her bottom lip, Hermione looked up just as Ron lobbed his waded-up parchment at Fred and George.

"Ron, show some respect!" she hissed, and he had the good grace to turn slightly red.

"Well, you can't exactly expect me to go crying to McGonagall, can you?" he whispered back. "Besides, it's not like we really knew Cedric…" Trailing off, he attacked the platter of bacon with gusto.

"Still, I should think it might be good for all of us to chat with someone about it, don't you? I mean, it's not as though one's classmates get m-murdered every day," Hermione whispered back, eyes welling again. It seemed that since Cedric's death last night, no one in the castle was willing to speak any louder than that. Students could be seen listlessly wandering the castle, silvery tear tracks evident on their faces. The unexpected death of one of Hogwarts' most popular students was jarring, to say the least.

"Guys are different, Hermione," Ron explained around a mouthful of bacon and potatoes. "We don't need to 'chat about it'. It's over, and nothing will bring him back," he added, swallowing and reaching for more food.

"I suppose," Hermione answered distractedly. Truth be told, she was bursting to discuss her feelings with someone, _anyone_, but as Harry had been holed up with Dumbledore and Ron was obviously not keen to talk about it… She looked down at the parchment again. The notice stated that McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Snape would be available to students beginning at ten that morning in their respective offices. Gazing over towards the professors' table without really seeing it, Hermione contemplated going to see Professor McGonagall. She knew the older woman would listen to her and provide comfort, but for once Hermione did not think she could bear to confide in her favorite professor.

McGonagall was wonderful, really, but she always had such high expectations of Hermione, and Hermione did not want to appear weak in front of her mentor. Furthermore, she didn't want her fellow Gryffindors to see her going to grief counseling with McGonagall. They, too, seemed to think that she was nearly invincible, and emotionless besides. Sighing, Hermione supposed it was the curse of being the intelligent arm of the spectacle that was Harry Potter: people tended to forget that _you_ had emotional needs, too.

Folding the notice and sliding it into her notebook, Hermione's gaze finally focused on the head table, and she realized she had been inadvertently staring at Snape all this time. He hadn't seemed to notice, which was a relief. She knew he would not miss an opportunity to mock her for the slightest offense. She wondered whether any Slytherins would bother to mourn the loss of Cedric Diggory. Probably not. Snape would likely be sitting there quite unbothered all day… which would be perfect, Hermione realized. She could slip down to the dungeons on the pretense of asking a question about potions something-or-other. She was unlikely to run into any Slytherin students hoping to discuss their sadness at Cedric's passing, so she could talk to Snape all she wanted, uninterrupted.

_Yes, and then he will spend the next three years of your life making sure you don't forget whatever humiliating thoughts spill from your lips while you cry about Cedric and mean old Voldemort_, Hermione admonished herself. Honestly, Snape was as unsympathetic as they came, and he would not waste an opportunity to embarrass a Gryffindor in such a spectacular manner. Although… there was definitely something comforting about the thought of _not _being treated as though she was extremely fragile, which is what she knew she'd be facing if she went to see Professor McGonagall or even Flitwick.

Perhaps being infuriated by Snape's treatment of her was just what she needed right now. She remembered the way his brusque manner had put her at ease during her second year, when the other professors had been tiptoeing around her after she'd been un-Petrified. Making up her mind before she could be dissuaded by the many, many pitfalls in her plan, Hermione determined to take a trip to the dungeons after breakfast.

.oOo.

Snape put his quill down on his desk, gently stretching his hands, arms and shoulders. He had decided to make good use of his enforced office hours by completing some grading. _Why _Dumbledore had thought that grief counseling was a good idea, he did not know. He _had_ known, however, that none of his Slytherins would be seeking him out to cry on his shoulder about the Diggory boy, most likely because Snape had made certain that no one who knew him would mistake him for the type of person on whose shoulder it would be a good idea to cry.

In any case, these exams had needed his attention, and now was as good a time as any. Standing and pacing over to a shelf, Snape allowed himself a few minutes to stretch his legs before returning to his desk. He still had several hours left of this foolish grief counseling. His eyebrows flew upwards in surprise when he heard a tentative knock at his door.

"Enter," he intoned in his most bored voice, wondering which timid first or second year was waiting outside. Not bothering to turn around as soft footsteps entered his office, he finished his stretching and slowly moved back towards the desk. "Very well, do go on then, so that we can get this over with and I can return to my-" The words died away as he finally looked up to see Hermione Granger standing behind the rickety guest chair, nervously twisting a ring around and around her finger. "Miss Granger, these _office hours _are purely for those wishing to wallow in misery about the death of Mr. Diggory, not for interfering students trying to boost their grades," he snarled at her, irritated for the interruption she posed.

"Y-yes, sir, that is why I'm here," she said. Twist, twist, twist went her hands.

"Miss Granger, it seems that in your apparent _grief_," he placed as much disbelieving emphasis on this word as he could, "you have forgotten that Professor McGonagall is your Head of House, not, thank heavens, myself. I'm sure she would be more than happy to fawn all over you. Now if you would be so kind..." He indicated the door. To his frustration, Hermione merely stood her ground, her fingers driving him insane with their continued fretting.

"No," she said firmly, and he was astonished when she sat herself primly in the uncomfortable chair he had chosen to dissuade students from visiting him. Ever. "I will not be so kind. The notice made no mention of having to see your own Head of House – only that all four of you would be available. Well, I require counseling, and you are required to provide it." She stared him down with a resolute gaze, and Snape fought the urge to smile at her little outburst. It was, he reflected, possibly the first time she had been outwardly rude to a professor. Realizing that perhaps she was truly as upset as she claimed, Snape exhaled sharply before taking his seat behind the desk.

"I am quite sure that I do not possess the necessary training to provide the type of counseling you require, Miss Granger, but as you have so rightly pointed out, I am duty-bound to sit here while you unburden yourself. I must insist, however, that you cease fiddling with that blasted ring, or I shall be forced to hex your hands into stillness."

He was pleased when her hands froze, and he noted the scowl on her face with something approaching happiness. While Dumbledore had insisted that he be available to speak to the students, the old man had not thought to require that Snape be at all _helpful _when speaking to the students. Steepling his fingers together, Snape stared at Hermione, saying only, "Well? Out with it, girl."

.oOo.

Every cell in Hermione's body was urging her to run back to the welcoming atmosphere of the Gryffindor common room, but she managed to hold her ground. From the moment that Snape had turned around to see her standing in his office, she had felt immeasurably more at ease. This, at least, she was used to; this, she could handle. Her feelings about Cedric's death and the implications for her future – that was too much just now.

She did not know what had possessed her to answer him as she had – "No, I will not be so kind" – but she was glad of it. She had nearly even smiled when he'd threatened to hex her. The man was truly predictable in his vile attitude, a fact which she briefly considered telling him, since she knew it would annoy him. However, she really did want to talk to someone about Cedric's murder, and she'd be back where she started if Snape threw her out for being impudent.

Gathering her courage, she looked him straight in the eye and said, "Professor, I can't stop thinking about it – do you… do you think Cedric suffered?" She asked the question that had been bothering her most of all, and she waited with bated breath as Snape stared back at her for several long moments. Finally, his posture relaxed ever so slightly, and he exhaled sharply as he answered her.

"No, Miss Granger," he said, and his voice sounded weary. "The _Avada Kedavra _is immediate and painless. That is, perhaps, a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless."

Hermione was surprised at his answer. She had expected him to mock her, somehow, maybe to tell her she ought to go find her answers in the library. Not wanting to waste this chance, she dared to ask him another question.

"Have you ever… have you ever witnessed that curse being used?" she asked, her voice a scared whisper that echoed around the room. Snape looked at her sharply, and her eyes widened as she realized she was probably moments from being jinxed out of his office. "I'm sorry, Professor, I should never have-"

"Yes," Snape said simply, bleakly. "And it is because of that I can assure you, the victims feel nothing." He stood and began to pace. Hermione watched him, terrified and fascinated. "I am sure it comes as no surprise to you, Miss Granger, but I have witnessed – and experienced – many horrible deeds at the hands of the Dark Lord. There are, unfortunately, much worse things to be borne than a simple Killing Curse." His back was to her, but Hermione knew what it must cost him to admit these things to her. The idea that he had been forced to watch as Voldemort tortured people… or that he, himself had been tortured…

Embarrassed, she swiped at the tears that had begun to fall down her face. A sniffle escaped her, however, and Snape spun to stare at her. His irritation in place once more, he strode forward and conjured her a handkerchief. "Do not waste your tears on me, you foolish girl. I have made my decisions and paid my price, and, much to the regret of your schoolmates, I am still here to aggravate you all. Now," his tone was sarcastic again, "were there any other deeply personal questions you wished to ask me, or are you quite done rooting around in my painful past?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, and she did not speak the words that completed her statement: _I'm sorry that you were forced to see those things, do those things_. "Um… thank you, for letting me stay," she added lamely, standing from the chair. "I just couldn't…" but she was unable to finish her sentence. Seeming to understand what she meant anyway, Snape nodded.

"Yes, well, Minerva can be rather overwhelming at times, especially when she believes one of her cubs to be injured," Snape murmured, and Hermione nodded in agreement. Looking down at the handkerchief, embroidered with a small SS, Hermione made to hand it back, but Snape shook his head. "Keep it," he said. "I hardly have use for a scrap of cloth that has been blubbered on by a Gryffindor," he snarled, and perversely, Hermione grinned. Odd as it seemed, he had made her feel much better. Tucking the piece of fabric into her pocket, Hermione gave Snape a tentative smile.

"Thank you," she said. At his curt nod, something reckless tore through Hermione, so that she had blurted out her next words before she could stop them: "I always suspected your chilly attitude was hiding a heart of gold."

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. Now she had done it.

"Two points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger," he snapped, "for daring to suggest there is anything nice about me whatsoever."

"But, sir, the term is over – there are no points to deduct," she said, not thinking. "And you can't assign a detention, either!" Realizing that there was nothing he could do to punish her – at least not in the immediate future, next term was another story – Hermione felt liberated. "And I shall think you are nice regardless of what you say."

Snape prowled forward, bending down to stare directly into her face. "Do not confuse one errant and regrettable instance of kindness for an actual streak of caring in my personality, Miss Granger," he hissed. "I can assure you there is no such trait." Standing up again, he threw the door open and gestured her towards the corridor. "And I will be on the lookout for any opportunity to remove points from Gryffindor the moment you arrive in September," he threatened.

"Yes, sir," she answered. Smiling, feeling much lighter than she had since last evening when Harry and Cedric had reappeared, Hermione passed Snape and hurried up the hallway. She heard his door slam behind her and knew she had made the right choice. Fingering the piece of cloth in her pocket, Hermione wondered what other sides of Snape could be lurking behind his evil persona.

.oOo.

Sitting back at his desk, Snape closed his eyes and idly rubbed his forehead. The girl was foolish in the extreme – thinking to be comforted by _him_, of all people. He hadn't known why he bothered to tell her that he had seen the Killing Curse, or why he had felt compelled to reassure her that Diggory had not needlessly suffered. He supposed it was those damnable big, brown eyes. They could look at a person so earnestly, so trustingly, that said person wanted nothing more than to give their owner any little thing she asked for.

It was dangerous, is what it was, and Snape could only hope she never learned just how dangerous she could be. Why, her pathetic little sniffles had had him nearly on the verge of _patting her on the back_, and Snape made it a habit to never pat anyone. Shaking his head disgustedly, he returned his attention the exams sitting in front of him, aggravated beyond belief that he had already finished marking the Gryffindor ones.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: WeasleySeeker, you're fantastic. The Jobberknoll feather is used in truth serums and memory potions, and reflects Snape's openness with Hermione about his past recollections as a Death Eater. Much as I wish it, I'm not J.K. Rowling and I don't own or otherwise profit from Harry Potter (which makes me miserably depressed if I think about it for too long). **


	10. Chapter 9: Bicorn Horn

**July 1995**

Snape strode past the curtained portrait of Mrs. Black and headed for the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The Order meeting would be starting any minute now. Snape typically planned his arrivals for just before the start of the meeting in order to avoid socializing with any of the others. He found it made everyone more comfortable. Trying not to feel dejected by this thought, it took several moments for Snape to realize that there was no one at the long wooden table in the kitchen. Quickly checking the time, Snape noted that he was right on schedule, which begged the question: where were the others?

Striding up to the fireplace with the intention of calling Dumbledore on the Floo, Snape noticed a piece of parchment stuck on the mantel. He recognized Molly Weasley's harried writing:

**Order meeting moved to 4 o'clock**

"Fantastic," Snape growled to the empty kitchen. There was no explanation for the change of schedule. _No doubt one of those fools couldn't be bothered to arrive on time, _he thought uncharitably.

Now he found himself in the uncomfortable predicament of being an hour early. Refusing to wait around like a timid first-year, Snape headed upstairs in search of a place to conceal himself until the appointed meeting time. Bypassing the first two floors entirely, Snape continued to climb until he reached the third floor, and headed towards the library – a safe bet, he assumed, as it was summer and none of the tenants of Grimmauld Place would likely be spending any time catching up on their reading.

As he was passing a partially closed door, Snape slowed. Strains of music were filtering out into the hallway, accompanied by a terrible wailing sound. Concerned and curious, Snape silently pushed the door open, and was greeted by the sight of a girl prancing about the room. Unrecognizable music was blaring out of a small Wizarding wireless set on the couch. The girl brandished her wand at dusty shelves as she twirled, leapt and shimmied around, her hips shaking and her arms gesturing. The riot of curls on her head bounced in time with her movements, and Snape thought she seemed positively untamed, wild. Then Snape realized that the awful wailing was the sound of the girl's singing. Shuddering, he moved into the room and shut the door with a snap.

.oOo.

Hermione and Ginny had been assigned to clean the rooms on the third floor, and today they found themselves working on a small study just next to the library. To help pass the time, Hermione had scavenged a wireless from another room in the townhouse, and she and Ginny had been dancing and singing along while they worked. A little while ago, Ginny had been recruited to help the twins with a particularly stubborn doxy on the next floor up, and Hermione had switched the wireless to one of its Muggle music stations. She loved Muggle pop music, but none of her wizarding friends knew. It was her little secret.

Hopping up onto the sofa, Hermione struck a pose and sang the last notes of a song to her imaginary audience. Swishing her wand, she also removed the dust from said sofa, then jumped down and moved towards some very dusty shelves. As the next song started, Hermione tapped her foot and swayed her hips in time to the music. Spinning around, Hermione held her wand like a microphone and belted out the lyrics to Mariah Carey's latest hit.

_Oh when you walk by every night  
>Talking sweet and looking fine<br>I get kind of hectic inside  
>Oh baby I'm so into you<br>Darling if you only knew  
>All the things that flow through my mind<br>But it's just a_

_Sweet sweet fantasy baby_  
><em>When I close my eyes<em>  
><em>You come and take me<em>  
><em>On and on and on<em>  
><em>It's so deep in my daydreams<em>  
><em>But it's just a sweet sweet fantasy baby<em>

Suddenly, the door closed with a loud 'click' and Hermione froze, one arm in the air, her hips cocked out, and her wand still at her mouth. Severus Snape stood there, his black eyes staring at her as though she was a feral animal of which he was unfamiliar and slightly afraid. In the sudden silence, Hermione became aware of just how suggestive the song actually was, and her face flushed a dull red as Mariah continued to sing to the occupants of the room.

_Images of rapture  
>Creep into me slowly<br>As you're going to my head  
>And my heart beats faster<br>When you take me over  
>Time and time and time again<br>But it's just a_

_Sweet sweet fantasy baby_  
><em>When I close my eyes<em>  
><em>You come and take me<em>  
><em>On and on and on<em>  
><em>It's so deep in my daydreams<em>  
><em>But it's just a sweet sweet fantasy baby<em>

Coming to her senses, Hermione snapped off the wireless, and the two continued to stare at one another. One of Snape's eyebrows raised in a question, but he did not say anything. Hermione was mortified, but she knew that if she gave any indication of it, Snape would verbally tear her to shreds. So she merely raised one eyebrow in return and waited.

"That was highly – interesting," he finally drawled, stepping further into the room, the hint of what looked like a smile on his face. But she must be mistaken – Snape never smiled in such an open manner.

"It was a-" she started to explain.

"Muggle station, yes," Snape interrupted. They continued to stare, the black eyes into the brown. "Tell me – have you noticed that, as with so many other Muggle devices that wizards attempt to replicate, the music selections are not always… ah, correctly categorized?"

Hermione was utterly confused. She had thought that Snape was about to chastise her for – well, for what, she didn't know, but she was sure he could come up with something, despite it being the summer. Instead, he had _almost _smiled at her, and now he was asking her a conversational question. Worrying her lip between her teeth, Hermione tried to spot the trap that he was inevitably laying for her. Her hesitation must have shown, however, because he spoke again before she could gather her wits.

"I mean," he continued, "that I have noticed certain discrepancies, and wonder whether you have as well. On occasion, I will tune in to the classical music channel, as I find it soothing. However, that station will sometimes play other songs that I am fairly certain are in no way classical pieces. I believe one of the more common ones is something called 'Crazy Train' by some fellow named Osbourne?" Snape looked at Hermione as though asking her to confirm this oddity. Still mute with shock, Hermione did not answer.

"To be fair, I do find that particular tune rather catchy, but alas, it seems that wizards will never truly be able to grasp Muggle concepts in all their subtlety," Snape went on.

As this was probably the most Hermione had ever heard Professor Snape say at one time outside of his classes, she was still trying to process what was going on, so it took several moments for his comments to sink in. When they did – she couldn't help it, she burst into laughter. Crossing his arms and leaning against a shelf, Snape just watched her, that hint of an almost-smile playing about his lips again. Trying hard to catch her breath, Hermione experienced another small fit of giggles before she was able to talk.

"I'm sorry – Professor – it's just that – this is so – I mean, this is so ridiculous!" she finally managed. "You, listening to Muggle stations… well, I just never thought that you of all people-"

"Would enjoy something so mundane as music?" Snape suggested wryly.

"Well – er – yes," she answered sheepishly. "And then, to find out – to find out – that you-" here she had to stifle more laughter, "that you actually _enjoy _– and Ozzy Osbourne of all musicians – oh!" Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with mirth. She couldn't look at him or else she was sure she would die of laughter. The similarities between Snape's appearance and Ozzy's was suddenly, hilariously apparent.

Doubling over, Hermione could not contain the laugh that escaped her, imagining Snape singing along to rock music. Even the connection between the dungeon bat and the man who had _eaten_ a bat… well, it was too much, really. Finally wearing herself out, Hermione sank onto the sofa, afraid to look at Snape in case she started laughing again.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, but his tone was only mildly sarcastic. Venturing a quick glance at his face, Hermione only let out one small giggle before nodding. Snape was still leaning against the shelf, looking – not relaxed, exactly – but more at ease than she had seen him before. Suddenly it occurred to her that she did not know why he had sought her out.

"Um, did they send you to look for me?" Hermione asked, beginning to stand again.

"No," Snape replied, and she slowly sat back. "I arrived for the Order meeting, but as it turns out, the time had been moved, and I now find myself with time to spare. I was heading to the library when I heard the terrible screeching that apparently passes for your singing voice." Snape gave a small shudder, but then he smiled at her – a real smile, to show that he was not just being rude.

Hermione felt a peculiar sensation of awareness wash over her entire body. Snape's smile… well, it altered his entire appearance. He looked at once younger, happier, even… handsomer. Startled by these unexpected thoughts, Hermione bit her lip and tried to regain control of herself. The temperature in the room suddenly seemed, to her, quite over-warm. Bounding up, Hermione busied herself with opening a window. As she did so, she sensed Snape moving closer, and goosebumps broke out all over her skin.

"If I may, I could offer some assistance with your cleaning tasks?" Snape asked. Hermione was once again blown away – Professor Snape, offering to help with menial labor? Hermione wondered vaguely if she had fallen asleep while waiting for Ginny and was now dreaming.

"Oh, you really don't have to, I'm sure you have other…" but Snape was shaking his head no.

"As I have already explained, Miss Granger, I am at loose ends for the coming half hour," he stated, "and it appears that your assistant has vanished for the time being."

"Yes, well, alright then," Hermione huffed, looking around the room. There was still a great deal to be done, and she may as well accept the help that was being offered. She was afraid to tell him no, even if his presence would most likely distract her. Leading him to the shelves she had been cleaning when he entered, she pulled out her wand and prepared to begin dusting again when he spoke.

"Are you going to put the wireless back on?" he asked.

"Ahh…" Hermione was convinced now that she was definitely dreaming. Professor Snape would _never _offer to clean a room of Sirius' old house while listening to Muggle pop music!

"It will be preferable to working in silence," he drawled, "unless you were planning to regale me with stories from your summer holidays?" His tone indicated that he desired nothing of the sort, and, blushing, Hermione hurried over to tap the wireless on again. This time, it was a popular hip-hop song that played.

_Power and the money, money and the power  
>Minute after minute, hour after hour<br>Everybody's runnin, but half of them ain't lookin  
>What's goin on in the kitchen, but I dont know what's cookin<br>They say I got ta learn, but nobody's here to teach me,  
>If they cant understand it, how can they reach me?<br>I guess they can't; I guess they won't  
>I guess they front; that's why I know my life is outta luck, fool!<em>

_Been spending most our lives living in the Gangsta's Paradise_  
><em>Keep spending most our lives living in the Gangsta's Paradise<em>

Unsure of Snape's reaction, Hermione slowly met his gaze. Shrugging, he turned to the shelves and began siphoning away the dust. Moving to stand next to him, Hermione followed his lead. They had cleaned two shelves in companionable silence before Hermione noticed a rhythmic tapping sound. Discreetly trying to look around, she finally saw something that astonished her beyond all else that had occurred today: Snape's foot was tapping in time with the song. Blinking rapidly to clear her vision, Hermione looked again – yes, she was _definitely _seeing Snape's foot tapping along to Coolio!

.oOo.

Snape saw the direction of her gaze, and cleared his throat. Her eyes jumped guiltily to his, and he gave her his best intimidating stare. She blushed again, but then she smiled at him, and Snape allowed himself to be momentarily pleased by the openness of the gesture before returning his attention to the shelves. A handful of songs later, and it was time for him to head back downstairs for the Order meeting. Stowing his wand in his pocket, he turned to Hermione.

"I trust that you will not divulge the events of this afternoon to anyone?" he intoned in his best professor voice. The girl shook her head, and Snape nodded once. "Good girl," he said softly. "I do have an image to maintain."

He chuckled at the stunned look on her face and headed for the door. Thoughts of their interlude were forgotten in the hustle and bustle of the Order meeting, and it wasn't until the next time that Snape heard classic rock on his classical music station that he remembered – surprisingly fondly – the unusual hour spent with the Granger girl over the summer.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: If you haven't taken the hint already, go read WeasleySeeker's work and drop her a nice note. Bicorn horn is used in the Polyjuice Potion, and I picked it for this chapter because neither Hermione nor Snape is acting much like themselves. I don't own Harry Potter… but wait, there's more! I also don't own Mariah Carey, Ozzy Osbourne, or Coolio; nor any of their works. **

**You've probably noticed by now, but this is not a narrative story detailing how Snape and Hermione fell in love. Rather, this is a collection of snapshots, if you will, in an attempt to show how it might have come to be. Still, I hope you won't be disappointed, and I hope that my Snape and Hermione still manage to remain true to their characters, for the most part. If you agree, or disagree, you know what to do!**


	11. Chapter 10: Murtlap Essence

**November 1995**

Hermione was slinking down the corridor by herself after their third DA meeting. She had stayed behind to tidy the room and review some of the instructional texts, waving Ron and Harry on without her. Now it was past curfew, and while her position as prefect would keep her out of trouble if she was caught, she did not desire being found anywhere near their secret meeting room.

She was peering around a corner, checking that the hall was clear, when a hand grabbed her arm and another clamped over her mouth, both pulling her backwards behind a tapestry. Struggling with the person holding her hostage, Hermione twisted and scrabbled at the hand against her mouth, when her captor spoke in a voice that Hermione would recognize anywhere.

"Miss Granger, come this way, quickly," Snape whispered, towing her into a concealed corridor. "I will release you if you promise not to make a sound."

Hermione ceased her fighting and nodded to show him she had heard and understood. Slowly, as though he did not quite trust her, Snape removed one long-fingered hand from her lips. When it became apparent that she was not going to scream, his other hand released her arm, and he began walking quickly forward again.

"Keep up, Miss Granger," he whispered over his shoulder.

Following him at a jog, Hermione wondered where they were going – and for that matter, where they _were_. Thanks to Harry and his penchant for wandering the castle, she thought she knew just about every secret passageway and shortcut, but this one was new. The corridor, which was hardly more than a narrow tunnel between walls, was dimly lit, and she could not see the end of it.

Snape, looking back at her, slowed his pace slightly, and they continued to walk for about five minutes before reaching a solid metal door. Snape swished his wand silently and the door opened into a small circular room that contained a sink, couch, and another metal door. Hurriedly closing the door behind her, Snape strode around to the opposite side of the tiny room and faced her.

"No doubt you are wondering why I have brought you here," Snape began, staring at her intensely. She nodded. "It has come to my attention, Miss Granger, that you and several other students – Potter and Weasley included – have indeed formed some sort of secret defense group, despite the most recent educational decree and warnings from several Order members." He paused, still staring at her, his eyes studying hers. "I feel I must remind you how dangerous it is – especially for Potter – to continue to defy Dolores Umbridge in this manner," he admonished.

Hermione felt this was grossly unfair, and opened her mouth to argue, but Snape held up a hand and continued in a silky hiss. "I do not believe I need to tell you how much she would enjoy punishing the lot of you if she were to find out," he said, and there was real anger in his voice now. "I beseech you to end this foolhardy plan at once!"

Crossing her arms and holding herself stiffly, Hermione replied, "It is not foolhardy! We have taken every precaution –"

"Then take more!" Snape snarled, taking several steps forward. "Don't you see what you are doing, you silly girl, putting yourself and others at risk in such a manner!" Snape's hands landed on her shoulders, and he looked as though he wanted to shake her.

"I – we – it's for their own good!" Hermione spluttered, taken aback by the ferocity of Snape's tone. "Don't YOU see what she's doing, what the Ministry's doing? They're preventing us from learning spells – _useful_ spells – our whole generation won't know how to defend themselves from Vol-"

Snape's eyes had widened as she started to say the name, and she froze, uncomfortably aware of their position. She was alone, with Professor Snape, in some strange little room of the castle, and he was chastising her about the DA, almost as if… as if he cared what happened to them. Seeming to come to the same realization as her, Snape's hands fell to his sides, and he took a step back, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as he did so.

"Miss Granger, I sympathize with your position, really, but in this climate it is most unwise to step out of line in so spectacular a manner." The snide sarcasm in his voice was more like she was accustomed to, and she relaxed at the return of her usual Potions master.

"Be that as it may, Professor, I have made my decision and I will not be cowed by that woman – or the Ministry," Hermione said firmly. "And I know I speak for Harry and Ron and Neville and Ginny and Luna and the others, as well."

Frowning, Snape muttered, "How very Gryffindor," before pacing over to the tiny window set next to the other door and staring out into the night. Hermione tentatively joined him, looking out at a breathtaking view of the Great Lake from their position very high up.

"What is this room?" she asked softly, unable to contain her curiosity. One side of Snape's mouth kicked up in an amused sort of smirk.

"Ah, and now the questions begin," he murmured, resignedly turning to face her. "This room, Miss Granger, is merely a resting point between the rest of the castle and what lies outside this door – the only spot on the entire grounds where Apparation is possible." Hermione noticed another quirk of his lips as he took in her dubious expression. "Yes, you heard me correctly," he said before she could ask. "However, only Dumbledore and myself know the incantations to lift the Apparation defenses, and even then, it is only to and from the small balcony on the other side of this door on which it will work. Even if someone else managed to lift the spells, they likely would be unaware that one must Apparate through a very distinct path in the shields around the castle in order to come or go without fatally splinching themselves."

Hermione blinked, trying to process all of this fascinating information. "So – so you are saying – that you can Apparate – along a distinct path?" Snape nodded in confirmation. "But that's… I'm sorry, Professor, that's just amazing! I've never heard of such a skill in all my studies…" Her eyes glazed over as she tried to recall everything she'd ever read about Apparation.

She was startled out of her musings by a harsh bark of amusement. Looking at him inquiringly, she thought that she had never seen Snape quite so unguarded.

"Yes, Miss Granger, it takes prodigious skill indeed," he said, and she had the distinct impression that he was laughing at her. "As it is a skill Dumbledore and myself developed together, I am not surprised that you have not read about it. However," and now his voice had returned to the serious timbre of her professor, "I trust that I need not remind you that our conversation tonight – in fact, _all _the events of tonight – must remain strictly confidential?" He raised his eyebrow, waiting for her answer.

"Of course," she breathed. "I won't speak of this to anyone – not even the boys."

"Good." Snape nodded. "Then it is time I returned you to the hallway." Leading the way back to the door which they had previously entered, Snape beckoned for her to follow, one finger to his lips to indicate that she should remain quiet. Stopping at the door, he spun around again. "Before we go, Miss Granger, might I suggest that you read up on the healing properties of murtlap essence?" he suggested.

"Um, certainly," she answered, suddenly alert. "Why do you mention murtlap essence, Professor?" If he knew what Umbridge was doing to Harry and hadn't said anything to the other teachers-

"You will find that murtlap essence makes a powerful soothing and healing balm," he explained. "And unfortunately, I believe you will also come to find a great number of students in need of such a balm before too much longer." With that enigmatic statement, he pulled the door open and strode into the passageway. Hermione felt a chill of foreboding after the way he'd mentioned "a great number of students".

.oOo.

As he stalked silently down the narrow corridor, Snape thought that the girl had taken the surprise ambush rather well. He had wanted to speak to her, alone, since she was the only one of the lot of them with any sense. However, he had been unable to think of a plausible reason to keep her after class or retain her in the Great Hall after a meal. He knew that Umbridge was becoming more suspicious every day; thus, it had become imperative to speak to Hermione as soon as possible, which explained his less-than-ideal abduction from the hallway.

Not bothering to check that she was still behind him, Snape paused at the concealed entry to the corridor. Beyond this door was a tiny alcove behind a tapestry, which he knew had been located by passerby on occasion. Deciding to warn her one last time before they were back where someone could hear them, Snape turned and nearly collided with the girl, she was so close. He was about to open his mouth to plead with her to halt their secret meetings when an irritatingly familiar scent filled his nostrils.

"Why do you smell of honey and almonds?" he hissed at her, a panicked feeling starting to stir in the pit of his stomach.

"I – what?" Hermione looked utterly confused.

"Honey. And. Almonds," he enunciated slowly. "Why do I detect their aroma on your skin?" He leaned closer and sniffed delicately about her hair and shoulders.

She stared at him as though he had grown a second head. "Er, well, not that it's any of your business, but I happen to be particularly fond of a Muggle body scrub with that fragrance," she said defensively, still not certain where this was going. "How can you tell, anyway?" she asked.

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "In case you have not noticed, Miss Granger, I am the owner of one of the largest noses in all of Britain, and as it happens I have a noteworthy talent for identifying odors." Her eyes dropped to his nose, and she stared for many long moments before opening her mouth, no doubt to argue. Wishing to avoid this humiliating conversation entirely, Snape snapped, "My eyes are up here, Miss Granger."

Her own flew to his, a pink blush of embarrassment staining her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Professor, I –"

"It is of no consequence," Snape said, and he was trying to convince himself as well as her. "Do not mention it again," he added, snapping at her as though she had brought up this topic. Taking one more deep breath before stepping as far back as the corridor would allow, he spoke again. "Remember what I have said – you are not to repeat any of this to anyone, do you understand?" She nodded gravely. "Very well. I will urge you, once more, to reconsider your current course of action… even though I know that attempting to sway a Gryffindor from their plan is futile in the extreme." He sighed deeply, and she looked up at him, a broad grin splitting her face.

"Indeed it is, but thank you for your concern nonetheless," Hermione said softly, placing a small hand on his arm. "I appreciate it."

Snape stared down, entranced by the dainty fingers on his sleeve. Not wanting to dwell on how this made him feel, especially following the unwelcome knowledge that the girl bathed in a honey-almond scent, Snape removed her hand from his arm with excruciating deliberation. Giving her his best glare, he hissed, "Get back to your dorm, Miss Granger, and hurry!" The ridiculous girl gave him another smile before darting out into the hallway beyond the tapestry. He listened as her quick footsteps faded, and he hurriedly returned to his own quarters.

Moving to a locked cabinet in his lab, he removed the small vial of Amortentia that he had kept there for more than four years now. Uncorking it with trepidation, his nose confirmed what he'd already suspected – the blasted concoction still reeked of roses, books and the unusual honey-almond. He now knew, without a doubt, what the honey-almond component was, and it did not take a genius to realize what the scent of ancient books indicated, as Hermione Granger was known amongst the staff for her tendency to fall asleep while studying in the library several nights a week.

As for the roses… he couldn't be sure, but he guessed that he would not be surprised to learn that they were Miss Granger's favorite flower. He replaced the vial in the cabinet, shoving it far to the back. He only wished he could bury the apparent meaning of the love potion's perfume as easily. Damn, damn, damn.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Chapter 10, in which we all fall to our knees and worship WeasleySeeker. The title was an easy one to pick out. Not J.K., not even British, not even close. **


	12. Chapter 11: Flobberworm Mucus

**June 1996**

The fire in his office blazed green, and Poppy Pomfrey's panicked voice called out, "Severus – quickly! Students – injured – hospital wing – cursed – not sure –" but the rest of her message was unintelligible. He was already striding around his desk, grabbing his bag of go-to potions. As head of house in a school of underage wizards, it was always a good idea to have several items immediately accessible at all times.

Racing up the corridors, he arrived at the doors to the hospital wing at the same time as Professor Flitwick. Looking grim, the diminutive professor pushed the doors open and hurried in, Snape right behind him. Chaos reigned: there were students strewn about the floor, Order members rushing to and fro, and more popping in grasping Portkeys by the moment. Madam Pomfrey was directing traffic, trying to get the injured into beds and calling out treatments. Seeing him, she beckoned him to her, and he strode forward.

"What do you need of me?" he asked quietly, glancing around to assess who was the most gravely injured. Most seemed to be conscious, at least.

"It's Miss Granger – the others say she was hit with a non-verbal curse some time back, and she hasn't awoken yet," Poppy said quickly. "I'm not sure of the whole story – something about Death Eaters and being at the Ministry – but it's not anything I recognize. Mr. Longbottom said the curse emitted a purple light. That's all the information I have, I'm afraid."

She looked at him apologetically, and Snape knew he had been summoned for his expertise in dark curses. Nodding once, he moved swiftly to the bed where Hermione was lying, so still that he froze momentarily until he saw the slight rise of her chest. Expelling a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, he moved quickly over to her and began to mutter a string of incantations as he ran his wand up and down her body.

_Foolish children! _he thought to himself. _Thinking they can take on Death Eaters! I'll kill Potter for this…_ But his thoughts were interrupted by the focus he needed to figure out what was wrong. The girl should have woken up by now.

Quickly uncapping small vial of Dittany from his bag, he summoned a bit of distilled Acromantula venom from a cabinet in his storeroom. Mixing the two, he tilted her head back and poured the concoction down her throat, massaging her neck to encourage her to swallow. For a moment, her entire body tensed – but just as quickly, she had relaxed back into that eerily still slumber. Now Snape was beginning to panic. That particular combination should have rejuvenated her if this was a typical Death Eater curse, but still she lay there, unmoving.

He was reminded vividly of the time in her second year when she had been Petrified. Fear crept through him at this thought, however, because at least then he had known what they were dealing with. This unnamed curse was proving to be much more life-threatening. Debating his options, he quickly came to a decision. He would have to perform a difficult spell and then attempt to treat her with a variety of potions. It was risky, but this was no ordinary curse and it seemed that if he did not do something soon, she would never recover.

Lifting her easily – _had he noticed before how frail she was?_ – he strode towards the bathroom at the end of the ward, his bag floating along behind him. The others were so busy with their charges that no one even looked in their direction. Levitating her upright and next to him, he quickly set out a number of potions and summoned several more. Drawing a deep breath, he pointed his wand at her and concentrated on the spell he needed to perform correctly if he hoped to save her life.

Speaking quickly, he watched as the band of silver light flew from his wand, hitting Hermione full in the chest at the same spot where he had detected the curse had hit. For an agonizingly long few seconds, she glowed purple; then, with a sudden rush of air, the light faded and she crumpled forward, retching as she did so.

Snape caught her and began pouring the potions down her throat as fast as he could manage while still holding her about the waist. She began to cough and shudder violently. He murmured incantations as he continued to force the potions into her mouth. She weakly tried to resist, but he commanded her, "You must drink these, Hermione, every drop!"

It was likely the use of her name that caught her attention, delirious as she was. Still shaking enough to shake him as well, she managed to swallow the last of the potions. She was breaking out into a cold sweat now and her eyes were squeezed shut in pain. She was taking great, gasping breaths and tears were starting to stream down her cheeks. Snape grimly carried her over to the shower and tried to set her under the spray, but her knees immediately gave way and she started to fall with a loud wail. Snape grabbed her again and stepped into the stream of water as well, wordlessly divesting himself of his heavy robes. It was vital that she not regurgitate the potions.

She was crying in earnest now, trembling from head to toe, mindlessly tearing at her chest and hair with her hands. Snape wrapped his arms about her, trying to constrain her flailing limbs. She could seriously injure herself if left unchecked. He sank to the floor of the shower, pulling her down with him and into his lap, her back pressed against his chest. Her face was directly in the warm spray.

He did not know how long he held her under the water, trying to calm her. Eventually, she rested her forehead on the cool tile wall, and her moans subsided. She was still shaking uncontrollably. He relaxed his arms – she no longer seemed in danger of hurting herself – and without conscious thought began to stroke soothing circles over her ribcage with his thumbs.

Snape gazed, unseeing, at the frosted windows near the ceiling of the little bathroom. It seemed that the Death Eaters had recently invented this particular curse, and unless he was mistaken, Hermione was probably the first person they'd been able to test it on. _Marvelous_, he sneered silently. _That's another antidote to begin work on, as if I did not have enough already. _

Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and rested his head on the tiled wall at his back. The number of inventive new curses being used by Voldemort's followers was keeping him very busy, indeed. He made a few mental notes, trying to memorize everything he had just forced down the girl's throat, as well as her reactions to the various potions. She had responded well to the complex spell he'd cast, and he would have to examine her to be certain, but he suspected that the potions were doing their job. In any case, she was no longer at Death's door, which was a minor miracle.

Trying to assess her condition without moving and startling her, Snape noted that she was no longer shaking quite so hard, trembling occasionally instead. The warm water seemed to be working to soothe her. He listened very hard but did not hear the sounds of crying. Odd, that – she was certainly awake and calmed, now, but it was entirely unlike her to be silent when there were no doubt a hundred questions buzzing around her brain. He could not see her face to be sure, but if she was alert and no longer in a great deal of pain, then why was she sitting so docilely? She must be more injured than he realized. Concentrating on the girl in his arms, his eyes traveled over her, looking for tense muscles that would be a sure indication of the areas that still hurt her.

When his eyes reached the point just below her armpits where his hands were, Snape froze. His fingers, quite of their own accord, were rubbing slow, sweeping circles over the ribs on the girl's side. How long had this been going on? He stared, entranced, unable to stop the traitorous movement of his hands. No wonder, then, that the girl had quieted under his calming ministrations.

Why, if he stretched his palms just a tad, he could practically brush the sides of her… _Stop that at once, you old bat!, _he chastised himself. What had started out as a comfort measure was quickly becoming highly addictive to Snape, and he abruptly pulled his hands away, disgusted with himself. He thought he probably imagined the plaintive whimper that escaped her when he stopped.

"Miss Granger, how are you feeling?" He tried to keep his tone gentle – the girl _had _been through a lot – and if his voice was less steady than usual, well, he had also experienced a bit of an ordeal, trying to heal an unknown curse.

"B-b-better now," she stammered, and Snape was pleased to note that her voice was stronger than he had expected. Grabbing his wand, he shut the shower off, and stood them both up. Making certain that she could stand on her own, he retrieved a large, thick towel from a basket near the door. Turning back, he was startled to see her huge brown eyes locked on him as though she was afraid he was leaving. Her shivers had returned full-force.

Frowning, he wrapped the fluffy towel around her, trying not to notice the way the wet fabric of her clothing clung to her. She did not move, but simply stood there, staring at him and shaking like a leaf. With an exasperated growl, Snape began to vigorously rub the towel over her, drying her and trying to instill her with some warmth.

Without warning, Hermione stepped forward and wrapped her arms about his waist, burying her face at his shoulder. She was still shivering, so Snape wrapped the towel firmly about her and continued to chafe at her back and arms to help heat her. As the shock of the day finally reached her, Hermione began to cry quietly into his chest. After a few minutes, he relented and wrapped his arms tightly around her, and just held her. This seemed to comfort her, for she soon regained her composure.

Sniffling only a little, she mumbled into his still-wet shirt, "How could we be so – so – _stupid!_"

Snape smiled slightly at the distress in her words. "Yes, well, no doubt you tried to talk the others out of it, but were forced to go along when they would not listen," he offered. Now that the imminent danger had obviously passed, Snape felt that he could afford to relax and skip the lecture about the sheer idiocy of their actions. "Potter never has been clever enough to heed your warnings," he added.

Ever so slowly, she raised her face to his, and he was mesmerized by the flecks of gold in her eyes. Mutely, they stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, their arms still tightly wrapped around one another. _What is happening to me?, _Snape thought frantically.

Breaking through his thoughts, Hermione spoke softly. "Thank you," she said, and the words were so tender and earnest that Snape felt paralyzed. Had anyone ever looked at him that way before? A mixture of admiration, gratitude, even reverence? He could not remember a time, and so he reacted instinctively, lashing out.

"If I had known that all it would take to shut you up was a bit of petting," he sneered as he untangled his arms from her, stepping back, "I would have done so years ago." His face flushed slightly at the double meaning of his words, but Hermione's face, he was certain, was flushed with anger. There, _that _expression was more like he was accustomed to from her.

Pulling the towel around her defensively, Hermione glared at him, but the effect was ruined by the dark circles under her puffy eyes and the way her hair was continuing to drip water onto the floor. Snape took her elbow and guided her towards the door, but not before flicking his wand and drying them both completely. He led her to the vacant bed nearest the bathroom and folded the covers back, gesturing for her to climb in.

As Hermione did so, she looked surprised to find herself wearing a comfortable pair of pajamas. She blushed furiously and would not meet his eyes. Snape thought it was rather a good indication of the girl's health if she was well enough to feel embarrassed. Tucking her in gently, he admonished her to rest as much as possible. He had just gotten into a full-scale lecture about the severity of her injuries when Madam Pomfrey came bustling over, exclaiming her delight at seeing Hermione awake and mostly alright.

Snape melted backwards, allowing the Healer to fuss over Hermione. Soon, other members of the Order and her less-injured schoolmates were gathered around the bed as well, all of them relieved to know that she would make a seemingly full recovery. Snape began to pack his supplies back into his bag, reminding himself to write out his full observations of the successful potions and their effects when he returned to his office.

Straightening, he glanced once more at his patient, and received a jolt when his eyes connected with hers. Though surrounded by her friends, all of whom were chattering with the adrenaline left from their encounter, she had chosen to seek out his attention. He felt again the unfamiliar sensation of being the object of someone's heartfelt gratitude, and decided it was not an entirely unwelcome feeling. She nodded gravely at him, and Snape gave her a curt nod in return before striding from the hospital wing.

.oOo.

Hermione lay very still, desperately trying to maintain a deep, even pattern of breathing. It would not do for him to realize that she was, in fact, awake, or else the visits would likely stop. He came every night to check on her, often settling himself in a chair and staying for several hours. Madam Pomfrey was unaware of these visits, for when Hermione had asked about his presence, the Healer had checked Hermione's forehead for a fever. But Hermione knew she was not dreaming – he returned, every night, as though afraid of what would happen should he not be there to observe her slow recovery.

When he had saved her from that terrible curse, there had been a moment where Hermione thought she'd seen a spark of awareness in his eyes. She was growing into a young lady, after all. It was as he'd set her on her feet after exiting the shower – the dark eyes had softened momentarily, or so she'd thought. However, she'd had much time to contemplate the sequence of events over the next few days of her confinement in the Hospital Wing, and doubt crept in.

She was so accustomed to him looking at her with disdain that its absence, while neutral, may well have seemed to her as something warmer, nicer. _Damn black eyes_, she thought. _Bloody difficult to read. _Deciding that she'd read too much into a single glance, she'd done her best to put it out of her mind, but that was difficult when he kept visiting her sickbed.

Sometimes, much to her surprise, he hummed softly to her, or read quietly aloud from a potions journal. Last night, he had even brushed a lock of hair back from her face, his slender hand resting against her cheek for several long moments. Tonight was no different – he settled into the chair by her bed, his movements so graceful that he barely made a sound. Hermione wished for a strand of hair to fall over her face again, but for once in her life, her curls were being perfectly obedient. Disappointed, Hermione sighed wistfully as she resigned herself to falling asleep.

.oOo.

He didn't know why he continued to visit her. At first, he'd come under the guise of research – the complex cocktail of potions he was administering to heal her did require observation, after all. Soon, though, his notes on her recovery were complete, but still he found himself returning night after night. It was really rather ridiculous that this annoying slip of a girl had managed to take over his every waking thought. He wondered if perhaps he merely felt responsible for her since it had been he who'd revived her.

As days turned into weeks, however, Severus had to admit to himself that maybe, perhaps, he cared for her one smidgen of a bit. Yes, she was annoying and too smart for her own good, but… she was also kind, and generous, and she was determined to believe he had a good side. He was loath to dissuade her, misguided though she was. Thus he returned every evening to sit with her, never letting on that he knew she was wide awake.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: How do I love thee, WeasleySeeker? Let me count the ways… Flobberworm Mucus is used in the Wiggenweld Potion, which will awaken you from a magical sleep. I find the symbolism in this chapter in SO many more ways than one. In case no one told you… I'm not J.K. Rowling and I don't own Harry Potter, so sorry to disappoint. **


	13. Chapter 12: Ashwinder Eggs

**FYI: Super-long chapter ahead! Also, here's your steamy scenes. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>September 1996<strong>

"What is it, Miss Granger? If you have come to pester me about your O.W.L. examination yet again, I must remind you that I do not care," sneered Severus Snape. He stood and strode around to the front of his desk, an imposing figure in all-black robes.

Looking affronted, Hermione replied, "No, sir, it's nothing to do with O.W.L.s… even though I do think that my response to the question regarding ingredient substitutions in the Draught of Living Death ought to be reconsid-"

"_Miss Granger_," Snape cut her off, "as we have previously discussed, your comprehension of the complex art of potion-making, though extensive, is, in this particular instance, incomplete. So I will give you one more opportunity – _what is it you have come to ask me?_"

Hermione paused, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. She nearly rolled her eyes at Snape's half-compliment about her potions knowledge before reminding herself who she was dealing with. She took a deep breath, and, before she could change her mind, rushed on: "I'd like you to teach me Occlumency."

Snape stared at Hermione, his face unreadable. She wondered whether it was a good sign that he had not immediately dismissed the idea. Growing uncomfortable with the silence and Snape's regard, she started to leave, saying, "Nevermind – it was a silly thought."

"Not altogether silly. I will grant you the idea does have merit."

Hermione was halfway to the door when his quietly spoken words reached her. Slowly, not daring to hope, she turned to face him again.

"So you'll – teach me?" she asked.

"I wonder…" Snape began, still eyeing her with a disconcerting stare, "_why _you think that you need Occlumency lessons?"

"Oh," Hermione said, relaxing slightly, "it's just that… well, Harry obviously needs to protect his mind from You-Know-Who, and certainly I don't require the same level of mastery, but I did think that it might be beneficial to learn some of the basics, as well; you know, in case…"

Hermione trailed off, not sure how to express her reasoning for the request. In truth, all of Harry's private lessons with Dumbledore had left Hermione and Ron with extra time to ponder Harry's, and their own, inexplicably intertwined futures. It was during one of these evenings without Harry that Hermione had first realized just how _unprepared _she and Ron were to face Voldemort, should it come to that. She had sat bolt upright on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, startling Ron so badly that he had fallen onto the floor while trying to simultaneously jump up and draw his wand. _Ron_, she'd exclaimed, _what are we doing sitting here? We should be learning jinxes, or hexes, or – or – doing __something__ useful! _Ron had just stared at her, still convinced she had seen an intruder that had made her sit up so suddenly.

After he had stowed his wand back in his pocket and returned to the couch, Hermione had explained. _One day soon, Harry is going to have to face You-Know-Who, and he won't be doing it alone_, she'd said fiercely. Seeing Ron's nod of agreement, she went on, _Don't you see? __We__ need to be prepared to fight You-Know-Who, too, in case… in case… _It was at this point that Hermione could not continue, caught as she was by images of a helpless Harry being trapped and tortured by Voldemort. Ron had seemed to understand, though, because his face had taken on a resolute expression, and he had told Hermione, _Harry's not – __we're__ not – going down without a bloody good fight, so whatever plan you come up with – I'm in_.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh upon remembering this conversation, however, because once she had lit upon the idea of asking Snape to teach them Occlumency, Ron had announced that she was mental and refused to take part. He had reasoned that Hermione could take the lessons if she wanted – though he didn't know why she'd want to spend any more time than necessary with the insufferable git – and that she could teach Ron the more pertinent aspects of blocking one's mind. Hermione didn't know whether she should be pleased that Ron thought her capable of this or irritated by his lack of enthusiasm for her plan.

At this point, Hermione's musings came to a halt as she remembered where she was. Snape was still watching her, a mix of resignation and what looked like admiration on his face. But that couldn't be right – Severus Snape would never feel anything remotely like admiration for a Gryffindor, would he? Hermione had the strange feeling that Snape was perhaps already practicing Legilimency on her now, because he seemed to understand her motivations for the lessons despite her less-than-coherent explanation.

"Well, Miss Granger, I must admit this is a most – _unusual_ – request. However…" Once again, Hermione had the uncomfortable impression that Snape was privy to her thoughts, "However, if you are quite sure that you wish to pursue this course of action, then I must warn you: it will not be easy. Your friend Potter has thus far found himself incapable of controlling his emotions to the extent required to block his mind from me, and I assure you that I am far less ruthless when probing thoughts than the Dark Lord will be. Now, if you feel that you have the necessary strength of determination –" one corner of Snape's mouth twisted upward in a disbelieving sort of way, "– then the only thing left to be decided is when these lessons shall commence."

Hermione thought she could tell by Snape's tone that he did not expect her to actually go through with the lessons. He had surely registered her expression of surprise when he had so readily agreed to teach her Occlumency, but her brief hesitation was only due to the speed at which he had acquiesced to her request.

"You likely already know that I oversee detentions on Saturday evenings," Snape said, smirking. "Your friends Potter and Weasley are well aware of _that_. I shall see you next Thursday evening, promptly at 8 o'clock – what is it now?" Snape snapped, for Hermione was beginning to shake her head.

"My prefect duties require me to patrol the hallways on Thursday evenings, sir," Hermione stated timidly. "Perhaps another…" but her voice faded as she took in Snape's agitated expression.

"Very well, Miss Granger, very well! I trust that next Wednesday evening shall meet with your approval?" Snape asked sarcastically.

Hermione sniffed in her most indignant manner. "Yes, that will do very well. I – thank you," she ended softly, her tone changing to one of gratitude. She knew that Snape did not have to do anything she requested, much less something so time-consuming, and she _was _appreciative of his help, however reluctantly it was given. Was she mistaken, or had Snape's eyes softened ever so slightly when she had thanked him? In the next instant, though, his eyes once again glinted with disdain.

"Next Wednesday. Do not be late," he snarled as he turned and strode towards his desk.

Hermione left hurriedly, before Snape could change his mind. She felt as though she were finally doing something proactive in the war against Voldemort, and a weight lifted from her shoulders. Maybe she could convince Ron to join her next Wednesday for the lesson! She hurried back towards the Great Hall – and dinner - to ask him. Ron was always happier on a full stomach.

.oOo.

"No," Ron stated several hours later, as Hermione was again badgering him about the Occlumency lessons. "Honestly, Hermione, how many times do I have to say it? I already spend more time than I want to with the slimy bat in Defense class, I'm not spending evenings with him, too."

"But –"

"Come off it, Hermione! Let's just keep looking for some hexes, alright?" He and Hermione were sitting in their favorite chairs by the fireplace with several books on defensive magic spread between them. When Ron had refused at dinner to even consider joining her for Occlumency lessons, she had inquired what _his _plan was in that falsely sweet voice that he and Harry had come to distrust.

Thinking to distract her from her goal with the only thing he could come up with, he had suggested venturing to the library for books on jinxes and counterjinxes. The plan had worked, as Hermione loved nothing more than a good bout of research, although it seemed that she was not going to give up on the Occlumency lessons as easily as Ron had thought.

The two spent a companionable evening making notes on various defensive spells, many of which they had already taught themselves during the days of the D.A. and even as far back as the Triwizard Tournament, when they had helped Harry prepare for the maze – the final task, which had ended so very, very badly. Hermione reflected that it had always been coming to this – Harry needed the help of his friends, now more than ever, and she and Ron wouldn't dream of leaving Harry to defend himself alone. With this thought in her mind, she turned again to trying to convince Ron to go with her next Wednesday.

.oOo.

On Tuesday, Hermione retired to her dorm earlier than usual. She and Ron had explained their plans to Harry over the weekend, and Hermione thought he really ought to have taken it better. Instead, all Harry could do was stare in disbelief and echo Ron's questioning of her sanity. _You asked Snape __what__? _Harry had gasped. _But that's – it's – you're mental, Hermione! _She was getting tired of having her intentions ridiculed. She had frostily explained that if Harry wanted to face You-Know-Who completely alone, then that was fine with _her_, and tromped upstairs to bed.

Now, as she headed up the stairs, she debated going back and apologizing. She knew that Harry and Ron's hatred of Professor Snape was at this point so ingrained that they were bound to react with shock, but she also knew that they would come around to the idea. Besides, it wasn't as though Occlumency wouldn't be a useful skill – especially where Voldemort was involved. However, Hermione decided to let the boys release some steam before talking to them again, and she continued up the stairs. As she neared the door to the sixth year dorms, she distinctly heard giggling coming from the other side. Not wanting to interrupt, Hermione crept closer and listened to the girls already in the room.

"But he's so… I don't know… _brooding_," came Parvati Patil's voice, followed by another giggle. "A lot like Harry, really."

"Honestly, Parvati, I don't know how you can say such a thing! And about a _teacher_! Who wants brooding when you can have someone a little more fun? Ron is always joking around and he's _never _serious," replied Lavender Brown.

Hermione pressed her lips together in a frown and opened the door rather more forcefully than was necessary. The two girls, sprawled across Lavender's bed, looked up, startled.

"Oh! Hermione, you surprised us," said Lavender. "We were just talking about, um –"

"Actually," drawled Parvati, sitting up and eyeing Hermione, "we were just talking about Harry and Ron, as it happens."

"No," contradicted Lavender, also sitting up and making room for Hermione on her bedspread, "_I _was talking about Harry and Ron; _you _were talking about Professor Snape!" At that, both girls dissolved into giggles again.

"Wait – what?" Hermione asked, taken aback by the mention of Snape's name.

"It's true!" squealed Lavender. "Parvati here was saying that since Harry seems so preoccupied –" At this, Parvati elbowed Lavender, but Lavender continued, "– since Harry's so preoccupied, Parvati was saying – was saying –" but Lavender had begun to laugh again at the embarrassed expression on Parvati's face.

"Well, I don't think it's so odd," Parvati said, pretending to be insulted. "I mean, he's not so much older than us, is he?" She glanced beseechingly at Hermione, who was still standing a few feet away, looking very confused.

"I'm not sure I understand…" Hermione mumbled.

"It's – I – well – don't you think Professor Snape is… handsome?" Parvati finally got the words out. Hermione plopped onto the bed, stunned.

"Professor Snape? Handsome? Parvati, he's our _teacher_!" Hermione said in a scandalized whisper.

"So, what does that matter?" shrugged Parvati. "It's not as though I'm spending Potions class paying attention, and anyway, with Harry so distant, there has to be _someone _I can daydream about!"

At this, Lavender broke out into renewed snorts of laughter, and Hermione found herself grinning too. "I suppose I had never considered it – him – that way," she admitted.

Lavender rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, not you too! Just because he's tall, and striking, and has fathomless depths for eyes…well, I suppose I can see your point, actually!" This time all the girls dissolved into giggles. Hermione finally wiped her eyes and beamed at the two girls. This was the kind of thing she missed out on by spending so much time with Ron and Harry – silly schoolgirl crushes, late-night talks about boys, giggling over impossible romantic fantasies. She relaxed on the bed and the girls continued to discuss the merits of Snape, real or imagined, until the other Gryffindor sixth years began to arrive for bed.

.oOo.

Professor Snape paced back and forth across his dungeon office, occasionally stopping to stare intently at Hermione. Every now and then, it seemed as though he was going to speak, but then he would shake his head and return to pacing. Hermione felt as though her stomach had plummeted to her feet and wondered when Snape was going to get this over with. Finally, he stopped and faced her fully. _This is it_, she thought. _Time to find out how much trouble I'm in_. She squared her shoulders and raised her head until she was staring right back at the Potions master. With a jolt, she wondered why she had never before noticed how attractive he was? Reminded that he could read minds, she quickly looked just over his shoulder.

"Miss Granger," came the silky voice. "It has come to my attention that you were daydreaming during my class today, and as a direct result, you melted poor Mr. Finnigan's cauldron. Tell me, do you find the study of potions to be so trivial?"

"N-n-no, sir, I don't," she stammered.

"Then perhaps you would care to explain… _this_," whispered Snape, holding up a piece of parchment. Hermione felt her face flush crimson when she recognized what it was – the note that she had passed back and forth with Lavender and Parvati!

"How – how did you…" she gasped, hoping that he had not unlocked the enchantments to read what was written inside.

Snape prowled closer, until he was standing no more than a foot away from her. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, and as she did so, she caught a whiff of something that smelled, well, intoxicating. It seemed that Professor Snape favored an earthy scent reminiscent of pine needles. She found herself wondering whether it was bottled cologne or just the scent of the man. Hermione was shaken from her reverie when Snape murmured, "Do you _really _think that spells put on a piece of parchment by silly girls such as yourselves would cause me any trouble whatsoever to undo?"

Tapping his wand to the paper, Hermione watched, horrified, as her handwriting and that of the other girls appeared.

_Come on, admit it! He's dreamy. –P_

_Oh Parvati – he's got to be at least 35! –L_

_That's not so much older than us, really. –H_

_I knew it – you think he's hot too, don't you, Hermione? –L _

_Well, I mean, he's not unattractive, certainly, but he's our teacher… –H_

_It makes it more exciting, don't you think, though? –P_

_I guess I can see your point, although I still think he should smile more. –L_

_Maybe he's as bored as we are! –P_

_I doubt that. He's very well-known in the Potions realm, actually, and his contributions to- _

_Oh Hermione, come off it! Snape is dashing regardless of what he's teaching. –P_

_We should do something to liven up his coursework so he'll be less grumpy. –L_

_Oh yes, I'm sure that would go over well – "Instead of the assigned homework, Professor, I decided to write you an essay describing all the ways I'd like for you to kiss me!" We'd be in detention until we're 35. –H_

_Hermione! I'm shocked! –P_

_I always knew you were more fun than you let on. I dare you to turn in THAT assignment! –L_

The rest of the note continued to debate the precise color of Snape's eyes and whether or not he would look sexier in green or gray robes. Hermione closed her eyes and wished the floor would swallow her whole. She couldn't bear to look at Snape now, not after he'd read that note. What would she do? She would have to drop Potions, to start…

"It was… nothing more than… just foolishness…" She doubted her bungled explanation was helping her cause.

When Snape spoke again, it was from much closer than she was expecting, and her eyes flew open to find him standing now no more than a few inches from her, his face very close to hers.

"For your detention, I believe," drawled Snape, seeming to enjoy himself, "that I _will _have you write that essay, Miss Granger." His eyes seemed to darken, if such a thing were possible. "In explicit detail."

"What?" Hermione's voice failed her, and nothing more than a whisper escaped in her shock. Surely she had misunderstood?

"You heard me." Snape's gaze dropped to her mouth. "I will, however, give you an example to start with." And Hermione suddenly found herself being kissed quite skillfully by none other than Severus Snape.

.oOo.

Hermione bolted upright in her bed, panting slightly. It took several moments for her to realize that she was not, in fact, being thoroughly kissed by her Potions professor. As her heartbeat slowed, Hermione cursed Lavender and Parvati for putting these ideas into her head in the first place. _I would __never__ have even considered Snape – I mean Professor Snape – that way before Lavender and Parvati were talking about him! _she argued with herself. _Really? _asked a skeptical voice. _Surely you haven't forgotten the way you reacted to him at the end of last year? _Hermione resolutely ignored the second voice.

Getting up to fetch a drink of water, Hermione stopped and stared at herself in the mirror. She was dewy-eyed from sleep, and her hair was bushier than ever, and yet… she thought she looked rather, well, desirable. _Oh, stop it! _her reasonable voice chided. _You're just feeling leftover emotions from that dream. _After settling back in her bed, though, Hermione found herself unable to push the dream from her mind, and if the slight tingle in her body was any indication, it would be a while before she'd be able to forget the look in dream-Snape's eyes as he'd leaned in to kiss her.

The next day was Wednesday, the day of her first lesson in Occlumency. Hermione had been unable to convince Ron to join her, so at ten til eight she stood and began to pack away her books. Ron and Harry looked up.

"So, you're still going ahead with it, then?" asked Ron.

"Of course I am, Ron, why wouldn't I?" she snapped resignedly.

"I hope you have better luck than I do, Hermione," sighed Harry. "Snape always seems to zero in on exactly the memories I don't want him to see."

At these words, Hermione froze. _Memories she didn't want Snape to see_… "Oh, my God!" she clapped a hand to her face, which was blazing with heat. "I can't go tonight! Oh, no, he's going to _kill _me…" she wailed. Hermione fell back into her chair and put her head in her hands.

"Um, what are you talking about, Hermione?" Ron's confused voice snapped her out of her contemplation of all the various ways she could lie her way out of seeing Snape tonight.

"I can't go! Not tonight! Not after…" but she trailed off, suddenly realizing that she did not want her two best friends to find out why she was so hesitant. Plastering a fake smile on her face, she stood unsteadily and said, "Oh, I'm being silly. Don't mind me. Just a… just… I… well… see you later!" And with that, she sprinted for the door, her cheeks still red.

"What's up with her?" asked Harry.

"Blast if I know," muttered Ron. "Girls are bloody difficult to understand sometimes."

Nodding his head in agreement, Harry returned his eyes to his homework.

.oOo.

Severus drummed his fingers irritably on his desk, checking the clock for the umpteenth time that evening. It was five past eight, and Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He despised students who were late. _Especially to meetings that __they__ arranged_, Snape's inner voice growled. If he were being truthful with himself, however, he had to admit that the Granger girl had pluck. He doubted that she would be able to master the art of Occlumency sufficiently enough to prevent the Dark Lord from obtaining whatever information he wished, but Snape commended her on her effort to try.

He had gently probed her thoughts last week when she had come to him with her request, trying to determine if she was genuine in her desire to learn. He had been only mildly surprised to discover that she was every bit as eager and determined as she was in class. It was because of this that he was now becoming angered by her absence. Perhaps she had changed her mind? Snape snorted. He wouldn't doubt that her friends had been doing everything they could think of to talk her out of her chosen course of action. Snape stood and stretched. Eight-oh-nine. _Where was she, the blasted, insufferable little- _

The door burst open, and Hermione skidded to a stop, putting her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Snape merely raised one eyebrow and waited to hear whatever excuse she had for being late. He noticed that much of her hair had escaped its plait and was now curling around her face and neck. Her blouse was off-kilter and her robes slightly askew. He had never seen her quite so… _undone_. Snape noted with interest that she had not brought a single thing with her to their meeting – no parchment, quill, books, anything. That was distinctly odd, given her penchant for fastidious note-taking. When it seemed that she would stand there and stare at the floor all evening, however, Snape finally spoke.

"Well, Miss Granger? May I inquire as to why you have kept me waiting for –" he checked the clock, "– eleven minutes now?"

She took a deep breath and glanced at him. However, she glanced away just as quickly, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks. "I, um, was caught up in my e-essay –" for some reason, this made her blush deepen, "– and I, ah, didn't notice the time," she finished lamely. Then, seeming to come to a conclusion, she rushed on. "Actually, Professor, I'm quite overtired from all my work, and I was wondering if you would possibly consider postponing our lesson to another day?"

Snape noted that she was looking at a point over his shoulder and she did not seem convinced of her excuse. _Interesting_. "Are you telling me," he asked softly, "that you would like to _reschedule _the meeting that you all but _begged_ me to agree to, because you are _tired_?"

"Y-yes," she stuttered, still not meeting his eyes. Snape took a few steps forward and discreetly prodded her thoughts. He noted a hurried race to the dungeons, excuses streaming through her head the whole time: _I'm not feeling well. I have too much work to do. I was foolish to ask you for lessons. I'm terribly tired. Professor McGonagall needs my help this evening. _The idea that she had considered lying to him about Professor McGonagall requiring her assistance only served to ignite his curiosity.

"So, Miss Granger," Snape moved closer to her. "Why did you choose the excuse about being tired? I should think that the one involving Professor McGonagall would have been far more compelling, albeit easier for me to determine its truthfulness." Snape watched her eyes snap to his with a mixture of shock and horror.

"How did you – but what – I thought you had to maintain eye contact to read my thoughts!" Hermione's confusion – and terror – was evident. _How very interesting_, Snape thought again.

"For most witches and wizards, that is undoubtedly true," Snape replied, studying Hermione's face. "However, I am rather a more skilled Occlumens – and Legilimens – than most wizards, and even without eye contact, I am often able to view and successfully interpret the hazy thoughts at the forefronts of others' minds, especially when the object of my study is an untutored schoolgirl." Snape finished with a sneer on his face. "Now, Miss Granger, if you have changed your mind about receiving these lessons, you have only to say so."

"NO!" said Hermione forcefully. She tempered her voice and continued, "I mean, no, sir. I haven't changed my mind. I was only… hoping we might begin on a different evening."

"And why, pray tell, is that?" Snape asked her, noting that her blush had returned and her face was now a bright scarlet. She did not answer him, but stood there looking both defiant and uncomfortable. There was also something he could not quite put his finger on, but she was looking at him very strangely. They continued to stare at each other for a moment more.

"Very well, Miss Granger, if you have nothing else to say for yourself, I suggest we begin – Legilimens!" And before she could protest, Snape had directed his wand at her and found himself immersed in her thoughts. Quickly and powerfully, memories flew to the front: Hermione, laughing with Lavender and Parvati; Hermione, trying to convince Ron to come to the lesson with her; Hermione, sitting up in bed, a surprised look on her face and her fingers brushing her lips; Hermione, being kissed quite deliciously by none other than – _what on earth?_

Snape was so surprised, he took a step backwards, breaking the connection. For a moment, the dungeon office was silent but for the sound of Hermione's quiet moan of humiliation and his own harsh breathing. Her eyes were closed and her face was the brightest shade of red yet. Sifting back through all that he had seen and heard so far this evening, Snape thought he began to see the reason why she was so desperate to delay their lesson.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, are you so tired this evening because a certain – dream – kept you awake for much of last night?" Snape could not keep the gloating note out of his voice now that he had had a chance to process what her mind had revealed.

"_OH_!" Her eyes flew open and she gave him an angry glare before turning and running to the door. Try as she might to open it, though, the door remained magically shut. "Let me out this instant!" she cried, her voice full of indignation.

"I do not think so. Not until you answer my question." Snape moved closer to her, a slight smile playing about his mouth. This rare chance to needle the star student was most welcome, especially after she had all but twisted his arm to be afforded the opportunity to learn Occlumency from him.

Slowly, Hermione turned her face to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes widened when she saw how close he was standing to her, and Snape felt a funny twitch in his stomach as the chocolate eyes sparked with awareness.

"Fine," she spat. "I'm tired today because… because… of a _nightmare _that I had last night!" And with that, she wrenched the door open and fled up the passageway.

Snape's laughter followed her all the way into the hall.

.oOo.

_That_ _went well_, sneered a voice in Hermione's head. She groaned again as she remembered exactly what Snape had just seen flit across her mind. She was huddled behind a tapestry, her face still too red to return to the common room. Ron and Harry would know immediately that something was wrong, and she would rather turn into a cat again than explain the past half hour to them.

How could she ever face Snape again? _At least he received quite a shock when he saw that last bit_, she reasoned, although recalling the surprised look on Snape's face hardly made her feel any better. And then, her humiliation complete, he had _taunted _her about it! Her growing anger was a relief from the embarrassment. How dare he laugh at her? This was all Lavender and Parvati's fault.

Deciding that she could not hide in the alcove forever, Hermione straightened up and checked the hallway for wandering students. Slipping out from behind the tapestry, she made her way back to the portrait hole. She spent the journey back thinking up a plausible story for Ron and Harry – she knew they would be curious to hear every detail of her supposed lesson with Snape. Hermione reflected that it was a very good thing indeed that her two best friends weren't skilled in Legilimency!

Just as she had thought, Harry and Ron immediately leapt up and started peppering her with questions. Mostly, the two boys wanted to know how Hermione had managed to remain in Snape's presence willingly for any length of time. Normally, she would have defended the Potions professor, but she was still seething over his treatment of her after entering her thoughts against her will. Hermione was glad that she had decided to tell the boys tonight's lesson did not involve any actual practice, but rather, a review of the theory behind Occlumency in preparation for practical lessons. Once Harry and Ron heard that there hadn't been any forays into Snape's thoughts, their questions trailed off, and the trio focused again on their homework.

Still agitated from the evening's events, Hermione gathered her belongings and headed up to the girls' dormitories earlier than usual. Thankfully, the sixth years' dorm was empty, so Hermione prepared for bed without interruption and was quickly settled down with the curtains drawn. She did not know how she could face Lavender and Parvati tonight. The other students did not yet know that she was taking extra lessons from Snape, but Hermione knew she would be foolish to believe that they wouldn't soon find out.

Hermione hoped that she was still angry enough with Snape to avoid any further, ah, _dreams_; and she closed her eyes to sleep with some trepidation at what she might experience this evening. Her last conscious thought before falling asleep was that she had never heard Professor Snape laugh before, and that Lavender was right – he really _was_ more handsome when he was smiling.

.oOo.

By the time double Potions class arrived on Friday, Hermione thought that she was prepared to see Snape again after their disastrous last meeting. She had given herself a stern lecture that morning: _You are to act as though nothing happened. Ignore him. Do not let him see that he upset you. And DON'T make eye contact! _Somehow, though, she thought it was still going to be a very uncomfortable afternoon.

Hermione was not prepared for the treatment that awaited her in Potions class. It seemed that Snape was not going to let her forget their encounter. When he was not calling on her to explain various theories or demonstrate the proper way to add ingredients, he was strolling close – too close – to her desk on the grounds of "inspecting her work". Hermione noticed the ghost of a smile in his eyes, though, and resolutely looked down at her cauldron until he moved away.

At the end of the miserably long class, she was exhausted. She'd had to be even more attentive than usual to make sure that she correctly answered every one of Snape's inquiries. He had insulted her "irritating tendency to memorize every fact in her textbook" so many times that even the other students seemed to have noticed the unusual amount of attention that Snape was giving her. Finally, the class ended, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. Her feeling of escape was short-lived, however.

"Miss Granger, you are to remain after class," Snape's snide voice captured the attention of everyone else, since a summons to remain after class usually resulted in detention. Hermione's panicked mind raced – _what could he possibly want? _She packed her things as slowly as possible while the other students exited the classroom. Harry and Ron gave her looks of commiseration before they, too, headed towards the Great Hall and dinner.

Hermione remained at her seat, determined not to show Snape how unsettled she was feeling. She waited for him to speak first, with the result that they sat and stared in silence for several long moments – Hermione at the ceiling, and Snape, unwaveringly, at her. After seeming to come to a decision, Snape stood and approached her station.

"I trust you have been sleeping better as of late?" Snape asked, coming to a halt in front of her desk.

"Yes, thank you," she replied frostily. "Although I would appreciate it if you would refrain from mention-"

Snape cut across her. "Good. Then you will not object to attempting our lessons again this evening." His voice held a victorious note.

Hermione quickly glanced up at him, and just as quickly glanced away, her cheeks hot again. "That will be fine," she murmured, trying to sound more confident than she felt. If he seemed surprised by her answer, it did not show. He merely turned towards the door leading to the stockroom and called back, "Eight o'clock."

Hermione's appetite for dinner had vanished.

.oOo.

A few hours later, Snape was drawn out of his study of the uses of valerian root to treat insomnia by a quiet knock at the door.

"Enter," he intoned, gathering his books and stacking them neatly to the side. A quick glance at the clock showed that it was five minutes until eight. _She didn't want to be late again, I see_, he laughed to himself.

Hermione entered the office, looking apprehensive but determined. He admired her composure in facing him again after the episode on Wednesday evening and the subsequent Potions lesson, during which he could not help but enjoy making her squirm. He knew she had likely spent a great deal of time building up a wall of indifference before today's class, and he had delighted in upending her at every turn. Snape knew it had cost her a great deal of effort not to snap back at him or otherwise expose her feelings – another reason to admire the spunky girl. He had decided to cut her some slack this evening, though, as something like a reward.

"Do come in, Miss Granger. Sit down and we will discuss the outline of your lessons." Snape watched as she looked at him, trying to decide if this was a trick, and then warily sat in the chair opposite his desk. He suddenly felt that this arrangement was much too… well, formal… and stood up to pace around to the side of the room. As he passed close to her chair, Snape noticed her tense, as though expecting an attack. He was not sure whether this was due to his previous unannounced visit into her brain or another reason entirely. Ignoring it for now, he continued.

"The art of Occlumency is a vast and complex one. In order to truly and convincingly block one's thoughts from exploitation, the skilled Occlumens must obscure the true thoughts and present others to confirm the falsehood, all the while acting as though it is no great effort to do so – appearing to try too hard is a sure giveaway." Snape paused, trying to remember what he had rehearsed earlier in the day. It was difficult to remain aloof when one had already viewed a student's thoughts, and come across a scene at once so disconcerting and yet so intriguing…

Snape shook himself and spoke again. "We shall test your ability to bar my entrance to your thoughts tonight to assess how much practice you will require. If, as I suspect, you prove to be as poor at Occlumency as your friend –" and here Snape allowed himself a jab at Potter, "– then we will need to set a rigorous schedule of lessons over the coming weeks." Snape tried not to feel overly pleased at this notion.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked as though she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Meeting his eyes, she nodded instead.

"Very well. Stand and face me." Snape waved his wand and cleared the chairs, desk and bookshelves away from the main area of the room. "Now, as Potter will undoubtedly have told you, you may use any spell or charm which you can imagine to try and prevent my entry into your thoughts."

"Professor…" Hermione started, but she lost her nerve.

"Yes, what is it?" Snape asked her impatiently.

"Well…" again Hermione hesitated. "When you… enter my thoughts… will you always see the memory I least want you to see?" Her face was glowing with a blush again, but Snape noted that it was only faintly red.

"That depends on you," Snape replied. "Often, yes, the use of the Legilimens spell will produce the recipient's most private, embarrassing memories. However, as you become more skilled, you will be able to direct the thoughts that come to the fore, and bury the more personal ones where I cannot access them."

He could not help but notice her relief at his words, followed a second later by the steely glint of resolve in her eyes. Silently he applauded her temerity. He knew she was determined to master Occlumency, if for no other reason than to permanently block him from viewing any more of her very interesting dream.

"So, I should do – anything I can think of to distract you from my thoughts?" she asked. There was an odd note to her voice, almost as though she was contemplating just how far she would be allowed to take her spells.

"Any spells designed to maim or otherwise injure are, obviously, not permissible," Snape said. "Aside from that, however – yes, do what you must to break the connection. Now, on my count: one – two – three – Legilimens!"

Snape hurtled into Hermione's brain, knowing what he would see, but even then still quite taken aback at the images of himself and Miss Granger wrapped in a romantic embrace. He decided to examine the entirety of her dream so that he could move on and scan the rest of her secrets. He began to question the wisdom of this, however, as the images leading up to the kiss started to play across his mind like a film: Hermione in her dorm with Lavender and Parvati, giggling about none other than himself; Hermione's considering assessment of him during class when he was not watching; Hermione, being lectured by him in this very office – _but wait, that couldn't be right; she had never served detention with him before_ –

And without warning, the imagined conversation between them sprung up: _all the ways I'd like for you to kiss me!, "In explicit detail", "I will give you an example", _and then the searing kiss, which he had already seen, but not for this long – his snapshot from Wednesday, he realized, was just that – a snapshot, a few seconds. In reality, it had taken Miss Granger several more moments to awaken from her dream, several moments in which he, Severus Snape, kissed her ever more passionately.

Startled, he didn't even realize he had broken the connection until Hermione's voice pierced the fog in his brain: "Professor, are you – is everything alright?" Snape chanced a glance at her, never before so glad that he had learned to conceal his emotions long ago. He was further surprised by what he saw in her expression: could that be – triumph? Quickly, so quickly he was sure he imagined it, the glimmer was gone, and Hermione was only looking at him with concern.

"I'm sorry – did I do something wrong?" She was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, a habit which Snape was suddenly very uncomfortable with.

"No." He snapped at her to cover his momentary lapse in focus. "But neither did you do anything right. You must not allow me to see that which you want to remain hidden! Try again!"

And he again pointed his wand at her, the slideshow of her thoughts immediately queuing once more. He tried to brush past the images of the dream, tried to pick out another memory – perhaps the time not long ago when a certain red-haired student had been displaying his newfound love for all the world to see? Snape was sure that her reaction to this memory would be something Hermione wanted well hidden.

As he sifted through her thoughts, though, quickly finding the memory he wanted, something happened. The image of him whispering to her that he would show her an example mere seconds before kissing her was suddenly and forcefully thrown into the loop of memories, and it remained there as though repeatedly slammed to the front by an angry hand.

"What –" This time when he broke the connection, he definitely detected victory in Hermione's expression. She was standing with one hip to the side, looking at him as though to gauge his reaction to what he'd just seen – or rather, just been _shown_. He had no doubt that she had intentionally tried to distract him from his targeted memory by forcing him to look, instead, at the images from her dream.

"Yes?" she asked, sounding deceptively innocent.

"It was nothing. Again," he snapped. This time when he pointed his wand at her, the first image to come zooming up was that blasted kiss again. When he tried to brush past it, he was aggravated to discover that the memory merely reinstated itself in the forefront again. Now he knew she was doing it on purpose – trying to shield the rest of her thoughts by sacrificing this, one of her most embarrassing memories, in an attempt to deter him from looking further. He did not know whether to scold her for using such an obvious tactic or laugh at how brilliant it was. He was tempted to do the latter.

"Miss Granger," he ground out when he broke their connection. "While this is certainly – _amusing_ – I would prefer that you focus your efforts on keeping me from your thoughts by other means. I sincerely doubt that the Dark Lord will be sufficiently shocked by an image of his most trusted spy locked in an embrace with a student – as tantalizing as it may be – for you to break his hold on your mind." He was gratified to see Hermione's cheeks stain a deeper berry color at his words, and equally pleased to see that she merely squared her shoulders and raised her chin in a gesture of defiance. "Now then –" and he determinedly dove into her thoughts once more.

This time, he was set on getting past her defenses, since he knew what to expect. However, as he brushed aside the memory of her dream, he found himself being assaulted by a jumbled series of other enticing images: _She was brushing her fingers over her lips after waking up, a look of surprised pleasure – not horror – on her face. She felt a tingle spread through her limbs as he passed so close by her work station in class that his robes brushed her arm. She was peeking appreciatively at him through the smoke of her cauldron while he corrected another student._ Snape didn't know what she was playing at, but he redoubled his efforts to gain access to her innermost thoughts.

The images started to come faster: _She was being chastised for her inattention in class. She was struck with inappropriate longing as Snape demanded she write the essay in detail. An inner voice crowed with glee as his lips met hers. He was kissing her more ardently than before. She was wrapping her hands around his neck and pressing against him. _Snape nearly lost his focus – this hadn't been part of her dream, had it? He thought he had already seen everything. What was going on? Every time he tried to delve further into her mind, he was met instead by resistance in the form of arousing visions.

The images continued to slap insistently at his brain: _She was moaning in pleasure. He was pressing her against the bookshelf. His lips moved to her neck as she hooked a leg around his waist. Her eyes opened and looked smugly at him _– Snape jolted himself out of her thoughts. If he had truly been viewing her memories, then there was no explanation for the dream version of herself to have made eye contact with him just now. He narrowed his eyes at Hermione, who was now grinning at him.

"I suppose you think this is entertaining," he hissed in a low voice.

"Actually," she replied, her grin widening, "I rather do. I believe you did instruct me to do _whatever it takes _to prevent you from viewing my thoughts?"

Snape stalked towards her and a distant part of his brain registered that she did not shrink from him. He was wrestling with his sudden and most unwelcome feelings of desire, and her smile only served to make him angry.

"It is inadvisable," Snape whispered, coming closer, "to taunt me with these – ridiculous – images, _Miss Granger_." His emphasis on her name, supposed to be a reminder to himself that she was his student, served only to inflame him as it left his mouth sounding decidedly sensual.

Her eyes met his, still dancing with amusement and victory, as she whispered back, "And it is inadvisable to you, _Professor Snape_, to underestimate my abilities." His formal address, when delivered so intentionally, kicked his sudden longing up a notch. Snape was not sure how to proceed, but he knew he needed to regain control of the situation – and quickly.

"I will warn you just once." He straightened to his full height and stared down at her. "Continue with your current _attempts_, and I shall be forced to cancel our lessons." He turned to stride back to his side of the room, but her voice, still a whisper, stopped him.

"Are you, perhaps, _afraid _of what you might see?"

Snape spun around slowly. Was it his imagination, or had he seen a gleam of answering desire in her gaze as well?

"Afraid, Miss Granger? Hardly. It is you who should be afraid of _me_." He tried to sound as menacing as he could, but the girl had the audacity to _laugh _at him! He glared at her as her peals of delighted laughter echoed around the office. He crossed his arms and waited for her to stop. When that did not work, he took a few steps closer. Her eyes widened and her laugh died on her lips as she looked at him – hungrily? But that could not be right.

"You've never frightened me," she stated, and Snape did not need to probe her thoughts to know that this was true.

"Well… then it seems we need to rectify that situation before we can move forward," Snape murmured, taking another step towards her. Her gaze dropped to his mouth – he was sure of it – then she was looking at him again, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. It was his undoing.

With one fluid movement, he closed the distance between them and swept her into his arms. He pressed his lips to hers as one hand settled on her lower back and one delved into her unruly mass of hair. _What are you doing, you lunatic? _his mind yelled with indignation, but the rest of his senses merely drowned the voice out. He angled his lips over hers and pulled her more tightly to him. Hermione groaned in pleasure and another voice roared to life within him: _Yessss, take her! _

And before he could pull away, Hermione had wrapped her arms about his neck and slid her tongue along his. This time it was he who groaned as she deepened their kiss, matching him thrust for thrust. She felt warm and solid in his embrace, the scent of fresh parchment and honey wafting up to him, her hips wriggling against his hand as she worked to press herself more closely to him. They were touching from shoulder to hip, both of them straining to wrap themselves more tightly around the other. He could feel the firm globes of her breasts, the angles of her hips. Her hands, which had been twined in his hair, began to migrate rather… _lower. _Snape groaned and kissed her harder, holding her to him.

After a few moments – _too few_ moments – Snape came to his senses. He shoved her backwards, away from him – away from temptation. She leaned against the bookshelf, breathing heavily, her lips moist and swollen from the enthusiasm of their kisses. He was reminded quite forcefully of the images he had been presented with the last time he had practiced the Legilimens spell on her – except that this time, there was no trace of smugness in her expression, just a desire to continue what they had been doing. And this time, there would be no tasting of her neck… or her leg coming up to rest his hip as his hands slid down to her –

"I think you had better go," he choked out.

"But –"

"Go!" His voice was harsher than he meant. "I cannot – we cannot – Dumbledore is quite capable of teaching you Occlumency if you still wish to pursue it," he finished, pathetically trying to restore some sense of order.

"No, I –" she gasped, attempting to catch her breath, "I don't think that will be necessary. I would not want him to see –" She broke off, and her face, already flushed from their encounter, glowed a bright crimson again.

He had no response to this. He could only imagine what Dumbledore would have to say about _that _particular memory of hers. He resolved to bury this as deeply within his own mind as he could – it would not help anyone for the Dark Lord to extract this little piece of information. And, selfishly, Snape wanted the memory of this to be his – and only his. Taken out and examined only when he was alone, and carefully returned to the depths of his mind at all other times.

He could tell that Hermione's wits were returning. She had straightened up so that the cabinet was no longer supporting her, and was attempting to calm her hair. She glanced down and, upon ensuring that her clothing was in order, returned her gaze to his. She unconsciously licked her lips again before seeming to shake herself and taking a step towards the door.

"If you're sure?" She let the question hang in the air. Snape searched for the best way to respond.

"I believe… I have kept you quite enough for one evening." He surveyed her hungrily once more, then attempted to return the cool, distant expression to his face. "It would not do for you to – to linger. I'm sure you have work awaiting you." He congratulated himself on sounding somewhat normal, more like the teacher he was supposed to be rather than the animal he had just displayed.

One corner of her mouth kicked upwards as she answered, "Yes… in fact, there is a certain essay I daresay I will get to work on right away." She put one hand on the door before turning her head to look at him. "I'd like to complete it while the, ah, _knowledge _is still fresh in my head."

And with a large grin and a wink at the dumbfounded expression he knew had crossed his face, she was gone.

.oOo.

"What is this?" Dumbledore held the parchment in his hand, but his eyes were on the man pacing around his office.

"Exactly what it says," Snape hurled at him. "My letter of resignation."

"But, Severus – you can't resign mid-term. What about the students?"

"It is precisely the students I am worried about." Snape paused to glare at Dumbledore. "I have behaved dishonourably with a student and should not be trusted to remain in my current position of authority."

"Is this about Miss Granger?" The blue eyes caught and held the black.

"I- how did you know?"

"Coincidentally, Severus, she came to see me as well. I believe I have her letter of voluntary expulsion around here somewhere – ah, yes, here we go. 'I, Hermione Jean Granger, have surpassed the boundaries of common decency and do hereby excuse myself from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, effective immediately-'"

Snape growled. "She cannot remove herself from school! It is I who is to blame and therefore I who should leave."

Dumbledore merely stared at him. "Funny, she felt that she was entirely to blame. I will not press you for details, Severus, but I must ask you the same questions I asked Miss Granger – were you both willing participants in this "incident"? Did anything irrevocably damaging occur?"

"Yes, I believe we were both willing, and no, there was nothing "irrevocable", as you say," Snape stated coldly.

"Well, then!" said Dumbledore cheerfully, placing Snape's parchment on his desk with Hermione's. "As long as this does not happen again, I see no need to worry ourselves further. You will remain our beloved professor, and Miss Granger will remain the top of her class. Was there anything else you needed?"

Disappointed, Snape gave Dumbledore his best glare. "I hardly think that is appropriate, Dumbledore. I kissed a student – she is barely 16 – I should be dragged before the Wizengamot and sentenced to Azkaban, not patted on the head and sent on my way!" He was livid. How could Dumbledore not see the impropriety?

"Ah, so you kissed Miss Granger? How intriguing," Dumbledore mused. "I must say, Severus, that you seem to be punishing yourself far worse than I ever could. Besides," his voice softened, "you are not so old. Thirty-six, thirty-seven – why, you're still a young man in his prime. I regret that your involvement in his war causes you to forget this fact at times."

Snape cursed wildly in his head. The man was a doddering fool. "Yes, but she is a _student_, Dumbledore, a student. I deserve every punishment you could think of, and more."

"Very well. You may chaperone the next outing to Hogsmeade." Dumbledore's tone suggested that he was amused by Snape's continued insistence on being punished.

"But – that is the Valentine's Day weekend," Snape said, horrified.

"You did ask to be punished," Dumbledore reminded him with a large grin. "Consider yourself chastised. I expect this little indiscretion will not happen again while Hermione is a student?"

Snape nodded, still distraught about his chaperone duties. Dumbledore might have taken just a _little _pity on him, after all.

"Off you go, then," Dumbledore said, turning his attention to his correspondence pile. Snape moved towards the door, both relieved that he still had his job and nervous about facing Hermione in class. His hand was on the doorknob when he heard Dumbledore speak again.

"You could do far worse than Miss Granger, you know," the older man called. "Once she's had a few more years, that is."

"You've no idea what you're talking about, you old codger," Snape returned, but there was a small smile on his face as he exited the office.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you to WeasleySeeker, who first stumbled through this mess of a chapter. It's far and away the longest because it's my _first fanfiction ever written_… that's right, THIS chapter was my first foray into fanfic! Ashwinder eggs are used in Love Potions and are highly explosive - *suggestive eyebrow waggle* - so let that set the stage for this chapter. J.K. Rowling would probably slap me in the face if she were to read what I've made her characters do here, but I'm not sorry. **


	14. Chapter 13: Honeywater

**December 1996**

As Snape neared Slughorn's quarters, his lips twisted in a scowl at the sounds of merriment leaking around the ornate wooden door. Horace's Christmas party was in full swing and Snape would rather be anywhere but here – however, he had a job to do, so endure it he must. Reaching for the pineapple-shaped door handle, Snape stepped from the dimly-lit, austere hallway into what could only be categorized as a drunken collision of gaudy Muggle Christmas decorations and useless, whimsical magic gone haywire.

Everywhere he looked, there was holly and fairy lights and silk streamers in shades of crimson, gold and emerald. Mountains of food were piled on silver trays and fountains of punch tinkled at him from both sides of the room. Snape rolled his eyes when he saw the towering pine tree tipping precariously to one side due to the excessive amount of golden candles littering its branches. He was reflecting on the relative fire hazard of such a display when Slughorn's booming voice drew him from his musings.

"Severus, old boy! I see you found your misplaced invitation, very good!" Snape had given Slughorn every excuse he could think of when the man had pestered him about attending this evening's festivities. The lost invitation had been preceded by a lack of proper dress robes (_"Not to worry, m'boy, any garment will do!" Slughorn had replied jovially_), an unfinished potion requiring his attention (_"Now, now, Severus, all magic and no play makes poor Merlin cry!" chortled Slughorn_), and an impending sickly disposition (_which Slughorn had dismissed with a hearty "Lucky for us you are a dab hand at potions and can whip up something to relieve your ailments!"_).

Snape had finally admitted defeat and now found himself standing in the middle of the party, which was in full swing. The cloying scents of cinnamon, pine and vanilla warred with one another for prominence, and Snape's face wrinkled into a sneer as they overwhelmed his senses. Slughorn thumped him on the shoulder and continued on his way to chat with Blaise Zabini. Resolving to depart as quickly as possible, Snape stalked towards the edge of the room, glaring at anyone who looked like they might be contemplating speaking to him. Spotting a curtained alcove, Snape checked that no one was watching before quickly ducking in.

"Oomph!" The body of a student he hadn't noticed went sprawling as he crammed himself into the small space.

"My apolo- Miss Granger! What business do you have lurking in shadowy niches? I do hope I have not interrupted a rendezvous between you and your date," he said with a relish that belied his words.

"It's none of your business if you have," she replied angrily, brushing her hair out of her face and glaring up at him. "And you should watch where you're –"

But her admonition was cut short when Snape held out a hand to her. Eyeing him warily, she debated accepting his help, but eventually decided it would be far more graceful to let him help her up than to try and stand in the limited space that now contained two people instead of just one. Placing her hand in his, she allowed herself to be pulled up. It was only once she was standing that she realized just how tight of a crevice her hiding place really was – they were not more than inches from one another, and Hermione was thankful for the darkened recess so that he could not see her blush.

She twisted and began to brush any dust from her dress, and felt Snape doing the same to her arms – quite unnecessarily, but she would not tell him that. She was horrified to feel the tingling sensation that always accompanied her dreams about her Potions professor spread throughout her body. However, it was far more intense now. She supposed it was because it was _actually _him touching her, rather than dream-Snape, that the feeling was so strong. She had been mortified, at first, when she continued to dream about him touching and kissing her, but over the past months she had rather come to expect (and enjoy) the dreams.

She would never admit that fact to anyone, though, even under the Cruciatus Curse. In the meantime, she occasionally broke into goosebumps during class when she would catch his eye, or when he brushed very close to her desk, but they had not been alone together since her disastrous last Occlumency lesson. Realizing how very alone they were now, she felt her face heat again and prayed that he was not currently sifting through her thoughts.

"Actually, sir, I am – that is – well – I'm hiding from Cormac," Hermione spluttered to break the silence. Snape did not respond, but merely raised his eyebrows as his hands returned to his sides. "He, ah, was a little too…" but she was too embarrassed to continue.

"I see," Snape said slowly. "And so, having chosen your date poorly, you thought to evade him for the rest of the evening?"

"Um," Hermione could find no dignified way to answer this, "yes."

"I see," he said again. The silence felt oppressively thick to Hermione, and just as she was about to bolt from their hiding spot, he said, "I suppose we can remain here together for the time being, unless you would rather take your chances with the Great Grabbing Oaf?"

Hermione stifled a giggle at Snape's nickname for Cormac. He _had _been rather handsy. "No, sir, I'd not like to run into him again this evening," she said, looking up at him. This was a mistake, however, as she had not realized just how close their faces were. She could see the gleam from the many candles reflected in the deep black orbs. They remained that way, standing closely and staring at each other, for quite a while. Hermione was pondering the fact that she was having a _companionable _moment with Snape – Harry and Ron would _never _believe her – when he surprised her by reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear.

"I believe I owe you a dance, Miss Granger," he said solemnly.

"I'm sorry – what?" Hermione cursed her voice for sounding so breathless.

"Two years ago, you asked me to dance, and I admit that I responded rather less than favorably," he explained. "Allow me to redeem myself now. There is not room in here to waltz, but I think we can manage a dance nevertheless."

Completely taken aback, Hermione stared up at him, her brow furrowed. A conciliatory gesture? From Snape? It had to be unheard of…

Smiling slightly, he said, "Yes, Miss Granger… I believe it is likely a first in the history of Hogwarts." He was trying – and failing – to look offended by her obvious hesitation.

"Oh! You just… surprised me, is all," she murmured. "Yes, I would love a dance – Cormac wasn't too interested, so I have hardly had a chance all evening, which is a shame as the music is quite lovely –" She was rambling, and she knew it, but was helpless to stop herself. This man unnerved her.

He silenced her when he placed his hands on her waist. She was suddenly, forcefully reminded of the last time they had been this close, the last time his hands had caressed her person – and she nearly fainted from the wave of dizziness that swept over her. As it was, she swayed towards him slightly, her chest brushing his in the process. Hermione's eyes fell closed as she placed her arms about his shoulders, and he began to rock them gently to the hauntingly beautiful music.

_O children  
>We have the answer to all your fears<br>It's short, it's simple, it's crystal clear  
>It's round about and it's somewhere here<br>Lost amongst our winnings_

_O children_  
><em>Lift up your voice, lift up your voice<em>  
><em>Children<em>  
><em>Rejoice, rejoice<em>

"If you do not look at me, I shall be forced to assume you are not enjoying yourself," he said softly, and Hermione's eyes flew open as his breath whispered across her ear. He was looking at her intently, and when their eyes met, he murmured, "Good. I would hate for my atonement to be unappreciated."

"Never," she whispered, and her cheeks flushed at his deep chuckle. Drawing her closer, he placed one hand on the back of her head, and brought it to rest on his chest. She could hear his heart beating, sure and strong. Hermione did not know how to respond, what to do in this situation – after a few moments, she decided just to relax and enjoy the moment. She did not want to spoil it and face the Snape she was accustomed to.

Pressing her cheek to the wool of his robes, she felt more at ease than she had in a long time. She felt _safe_, and that was disconcerting. Idly, her hands drifted upward and began sifting through Snape's hair. It was the silkiest thing she'd ever touched, and she marveled at the smooth way it slid through her fingers. Ever curious, she wanted to explore, and her hands delved deeper into the inky black strands.

Snape was unable to suppress his moan of pleasure. Startled, Hermione looked up at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted. Her hands remained twisted in his hair. He stared at her, barely daring to breathe. Slowly, Hermione stretched up on her toes until her lips were almost touching his. "Stop me… if you do not want this," she whispered, never breaking her eye contact.

Groaning quietly, Snape closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers. Unlike their kiss in his office, this was unhurried, gentle. Her hands continued to slip through his hair. His palms stroked slowly up and down her sides. She sighed and pressed herself more fully against him. He languidly dipped his tongue into her mouth, tangling it with hers. Still they swayed to the music. Her hands gripped his neck now, holding him to her. He wrapped his arms securely about her waist, enveloping her. One leg insinuated itself between the folds of her dress, and she arched against him. They kissed each other softly, exploring, until, with one last press of his lips, Snape drew back, resting his forehead against hers.

"Hermione," he sighed, and the sound of her name on his lips nearly caused her to swoon. All too soon, he had released her and stepped back. Hermione thought he sounded quite rueful, and nearly begged him to stay. However, at that moment, someone talking loudly passed by their secluded alcove, and reality came crashing back. They could be discovered at any moment.

Taking her hand, Snape bowed low over it, murmuring, "Thank you for the dance… both now and then," before pressing a kiss to her palm. With one last smoldering glance, he had swept away into the crowd. Hermione stared after him, her heart beating erratically, her hand cradled to her lips.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It's a good thing this story is nearing the end, because I'm quite out of witty disclaimers. WeasleySeeker is wonderful, I'm not J.K. Rowling, and honeywater is used in the Antidote to Common Poisons. I'm not sure there's a connection here, other than 'honeywater' sounded sweet, and this is a sweet chapter. I guess you could draw some conclusion about Slughorn's party – Slughorn is the Potions professor – honeywater is an ingredient in potions – but then I'd have to wonder at what you're doing with so much free time on your hands. Oh, and there's a little bit of movie-canon in here, or maybe just a foreshadowing of movie canon… I don't own Nick Cave or his beautiful O Children song. **


	15. Chapter 14: Erumpent Horn

**June 1997**

Hermione and Luna were lounging against the cool stone wall in the dungeon corridor outside Snape's office, talking idly about the end of the term and their plans for the summer. They had been stationed here for well over two hours now at Harry's insistence. Initially they had been alert, tense, prepared to react immediately should anything happen – but as so much time had passed without even Peeves coming by, they had slowly let down their guard and sat on the floor.

Hermione had come to appreciate the other girl's company over the past year, even if some of her beliefs were a little bizarre. They had just struck up a spirited debate about the necessity of the Centaur Liaison Office at the Ministry when they heard footsteps running their way. The girls leapt to their feet and drew their wands, looking worriedly at each other. Hermione hoped the mouthful of Felix Felicis they had each drunk was still in effect. Gripping her wand tightly, Hermione squinted down the dark corridor in the direction of the noise.

Professor Flitwick came dashing around the corner, running towards them as fast as his short legs would allow. He seemed not to notice the two girls, aiming straight for the door to Snape's office and knocking against the heavy wood with both fists.

"SEVERUS!" he yelled. "SEVERUS! QUICKLY! YOU MUST COME – DEATH EATERS IN THE SCHOOL – SEV-" The door was opened and Flitwick practically fell inside, still yelling for Snape. Hermione's wide, horrified eyes met the equally stunned gaze of Luna, and the girls quickly moved to enter the room behind Flitwick. Before they had taken two steps, however, there was a thump and then Snape appeared in the doorway. His face was carved in an expression of stark terror, and Hermione froze. It seemed that he did not notice them at first, but with a slight twitch, he masked his features and glared at the two of them.

"What are you – nevermind, there is no time now! Flitwick has collapsed – go in, you must see to him," Snape commanded, and Luna obeyed at once. Hermione was still unable to move, staring at Snape. She had never seen him lose control like this before. He was taking great, gulping breaths of air, and the look in his eyes reminded Hermione of a raccoon that she had once freed from a hunter's trap while camping with her parents: agonized, terrified, yet angry enough to snap at her as she worked to free him. Hermione knew Snape was intimately familiar with the Death Eaters – so what, if not their presence, could be causing this reaction in him?

He spoke again, and this time his voice was shaky, distraught. "Lock the door behind me. Do not open it for anyone save McGonagall or Slughorn. Do not leave this room. Do you understand me?" The question was more of a snarl, Snape grabbed her arms roughly, and Hermione nodded jerkily. Snape's eyes drilled into hers, and he passed a shaking hand over his face.

Suddenly, his shoulders slumped. "Do not judge me too harshly," he said softly, gazing at her as though willing her to understand the words he was not saying.

Hermione was confused. Why should she judge him for panicking? She certainly was. Death Eaters inside the school was something they all thought impossible.

"Of course no-" she started to respond, but then his lips were pressed hard against hers. It lasted only a moment, but Hermione could feel the fear, longing, and something else pouring off him in waves. Was that… regret? But regret for what? She instinctively raised a hand to her lips and stared up at him, trying to comprehend.

"Remember me…" he whispered, and Hermione sensed that he was struggling to find the right words. From above, they heard a loud bang, and Snape's features firmed as he tore his eyes away from her. The moment gone, he did not glance back at her as he turned and started running for the stairs. "Get inside, girl!" he growled over his shoulder. "Lock the door! Now!"

Hurrying towards the door to his office, Hermione paused at the threshold and watched as Snape turned the corner. Their eyes caught and held each other for the space of a heartbeat, and Hermione felt the connection all way down to her toes. She shivered, and he had disappeared.

.oOo.

It was not until very late that night, as she lay in the darkness and solitude of her bedroom, that Hermione finally allowed herself to process her last moments with Snape earlier that evening. She had not shared any of their exchange with the others – it was too personal, and she was afraid of what it might mean. In light of what had happened, she had blocked it all out to sort through later. Her feelings were so tangled that she scarcely knew what to think. She was mentally and physically exhausted, but she knew that sleep would not come until she had processed their encounter in the dungeon corridor.

His words replayed over and over in her mind: _Do not judge me too harshly… Remember me… Do not judge me… Remember me…_ Silent tears coursing down her face into her hair, Hermione miserably recalled their kiss, and the concern he had seemed to show for her and Luna's welfare as he told them to lock the door. _How __could__ he have killed Dumbledore? _she wondered yet again. _He could have killed us, or Flitwick, so easily! And yet he didn't! _It was all so confusing. Snape could never be described as a nice person, but Hermione had rather thought she had a good sense of people's character, and he hardly seemed like the type of person to cold-bloodedly kill a man who had been his mentor and confidant for so many years.

_Do not judge me… _Hermione wondered what he could have been referring to. At the time, she had thought he was apologizing for seeming so out-of-sorts. After he'd gone and they had ascertained that Flitwick was fine, she'd considered that he meant to atone for their occasionally-inappropriate relationship… or that he was asking her forgiveness in advance for kissing her there in the hallway.

But now… well, now her mind kept circling back to one horrifying explanation that she was unwilling to accept – that Snape had known he was on his way to kill Dumbledore. She just could not believe it, even though all evidence pointed in that direction. The look of sheer terror on his face as he'd exited his office indicated he knew precisely what was going on upstairs, and his uncharacteristic loss of control over his emotions could only mean that he was fully aware of what he was about to do.

Hermione shuddered in the pitch black and rolled onto her stomach, clutching a pillow to her face as though to stifle a scream. If only she had someone to talk to about this, someone to help her understand what had happened! But she knew, without a doubt, that no one would believe her, and besides, what he'd said to her hardly demonstrated his innocence.

Jumping up, Hermione pulled her trunk out from under bed. Digging into the darkest depths, her fingers scrabbled until she felt what she was searching for. Releasing the small latch, her hand dove into the secret compartment and retrieved a small bit of fabric. Sitting on her bed again, she slowly traced the tiny SS stitched into the corner. Snape had given her this handkerchief two years ago, just after Cedric had died in the Triwizard Tournament. Feeling lost and alone, she'd gone to see him, and, in his own roundabout sarcastic manner, he had managed to comfort her a bit.

Thinking back, their conversation returned to her in bits and pieces: **I have made my decisions and paid my price… I have witnessed many horrible deeds… There is nothing nice about me… **Hermione wondered, now, just what he had been referring to when he'd said he'd experienced terrible deeds at the hands of Voldemort. She had thought, at the time, he meant that he had been on the receiving end, but perhaps… Perhaps he had killed before? But no, that hardly fit with the man who worked tirelessly to teach them all Potions, the man who had answered her questions honestly, the man who – although unpleasant and cruel – had never actually done anything worse than assign detentions.

She was certain that, whatever he'd done tonight, Snape had done out of some misguided sense of loyalty – and _not _to Voldemort, but to Dumbledore, or maybe even Draco. Tucking the handkerchief under her pillow, Hermione remembered all the times Dumbledore had insisted he trusted Snape. She decided that she would, as well. As she began to drift into a troubled slumber, the pleading look in his eyes as he'd asked her to remember him was all she could see.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Across-the-pond hugs to WeasleySeeker! The Erumpent Horn is highly explosive – as are the events in this chapter – plus there is the added bonus of Luna Lovegood, and we all know that her house contains (contained?) an Erumpent Horn, so. I checked my I.D. this morning, and I'm still not J.K. Rowling, much to my bitter disappointment. **


	16. Chapter 15: Snakeweed

**June 1997**

He knew it was foolhardy in the extreme to be here, but he'd had to come. Though Dumbledore's funeral was likely crawling with Aurors, Snape could not stay away. He wanted to be here, needed to be here, as the man he had considered a mentor and friend was laid to rest. The thought crossed his mind that as the person who had cast the curse to kill Dumbledore, he was unworthy to grieve at his burial; but he brushed it aside. He had only done it at Dumbledore's request, and that wizard would have understood his need to be present now.

Creeping silently through the Forbidden Forest, he stopped when the grassy area at the bank of the lake came into sight. The sheer spectacle of it all was dazzling: the sun glinted off the white marble, blinding him. Looking at the crowd, Snape suspected that every wizard in Britain who wasn't a Death Eater was present. He felt a pang of deepest regret at this thought. If only… If only he weren't a Death Eater, if only he hadn't been so foolish in his youth, if only he had been able to deny Dumbledore this last, most permanent, request.

Making sure that he was concealed by the trees, Snape began to move closer, hoping to hear at least a little of what was being said. He soon realized, however, that none of the speakers were people who _knew _Dumbledore: no, they were all there to draw a little of Dumbledore's admiration onto themselves. Snorting contemptuously, Snape thought that someone ought to have screened the speakers at such an occasion. The number of Ministry officials who were claiming to mourn his loss was offensive, and Snape began to compose his own eulogy instead.

The memories were painful, but he needed to feel pain – needed to know that killing Dumbledore had not also killed a part of him – and with each stab of regret Snape confirmed that he was still very much alive. 

There had been the time when he was just twelve, dreading returning home for the summer holidays, when Dumbledore had lent him a rare and valuable Potions text to keep him entertained. '_I couldn't_,' he'd protested, recognizing the book's worth immediately. '_But of course you can_,' Dumbledore had replied kindly. '_I know you will keep it safe for me_.' And then there was his graduation day, when Dumbledore had pulled him aside, ostensibly to congratulate him on his Potions apprenticeship. '_You know, our paths in life may be altered at any time, Severus_,' he had said, and Snape had wondered whether he was talking about the Potions career or… the other. '_Any path_,' Dumbledore had answered, seeming to know where Snape's thoughts were leading. '_It is never too late, dear boy_.'

And the less serious memories, too, such as the year Dumbledore had been Snape's secret Santa, and delighted in purchasing him gaudy vials in shades of red, green, purple, and blue. Snape had never used them, but neither had he thrown them away.

Snape was drawn out of his reverie by the sight of Hagrid carrying the body of his former mentor down to the marble table. He was wrapped in a lurid purple drape with a glittering gold pattern. It was wholly inappropriate for the occasion, and yet – so very like Dumbledore. Sinking to his knees, Snape allowed the grief to overwhelm him, at last.

.oOo.

Hermione was holding the sobbing form of Ginny Weasley, tears streaming down her own face. Dumbledore's funeral had not been nearly enough to celebrate the life and death of the great wizard. Hermione thought that the entire world should have ceased, for a moment… But here they were, sitting in the sunshine by the lake, watching as people rose from their chairs and began to speak quietly to one another. Stroking a hand down Ginny's hair, Hermione looked away from the Ministry officials who were, even now, shaking hands and moving through the crowd, probably headed towards Harry.

She stiffened as her eyes sought something along the edge of the Forest. There had been something there... some irregularity in the line of the trees… what could it – no, it couldn't be! Releasing Ginny abruptly, Hermione stood and shaded her eyes from the sun, squinting at the Forest. She had thought, for a moment, that she'd seen… But there it was again, the strange movement, a shifting of the shadows that did not seem natural.

Mumbling an excuse about needing some air, Hermione hurried back towards the castle. Making sure that no one was watching her, she turned swiftly and ducked into the shade of the Forest, running as quietly as she could towards the spot where she thought she'd seen… _him_.

Slipping out her wand, Hermione slowed, careful not to step on a branch and announce her arrival. She briefly considered that if Snape was indeed here then she was putting herself in great danger. However, he had had ample opportunity during the funeral to cause more damage while everyone's heads had been bowed, but he hadn't. Clinging to this small glimmer of hope, she crept forward.

A quiet moan reached her, and Hermione stopped where she was, behind a tree. Leaning cautiously around, she saw Snape, kneeling in the brush with his head in his hands. Not wishing to take any chances, however, she cried "Expelliarmus!" at the same moment she stepped out from behind the trunk.

Snape's wand, which he had not even been holding, flew out of his sleeve towards her, but she allowed it to fall to the ground at her feet. Snape's head snapped up and he leapt to his feet, his body tense. She kept her wand pointed at him and they stared at each other in silence. His expression gave away no indication of why he had come.

"Well, well, how clever you are," Snape sneered, looking at her down his nose. "Disarming me before I had a chance to realize I was not alone. Go ahead then – curse me… if you have the courage," he spat, and his voice made it obvious he despised her at this moment.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, hating the way her breath hitched.

"Isn't it obvious, Miss Granger?" He began to prowl back and forth in front of her, but she never took her eyes or her wand off of him. "I have come to gloat. I, Severus Snape, killed the great Albus Dumbledore! I have won the Dark Lord's favor! Surely you would allow me a moment to bask in the glow of success?"

His black eyes bored into hers, and Hermione swallowed thickly. This was not the Snape she knew. It could not be. But something broke inside of her when she heard him utter those terrible words with such apparent glee.

"I trusted you!" she cried. "I believed in your innocence – that you had been acting out of loyalty to Dumbledore, somehow," she ranted, the hand holding her wand trembling. "I've defended your actions – told myself there was information I did not have – I kept your handkerchief!" she added, as though that explained everything.

Snape paused in his pacing to glare at her, then resumed as a nasty smile bloomed across his features. "Is that so? My, my, those foolish schoolgirl fantasies of yours have been quite busy, have they not? I suppose you fancied me some sort of tragic hero, Hermione? How childish," he murmured, and his voice, which had once enchanted her, only fueled her rage.

Hermione bristled when he dared to laugh at her, a cruel, harsh sound. Her hand stopped shaking, and she squared her shoulders, allowing the anger at him, at Voldemort, at everything she could not control, to fill her. "Cru-"

But somehow, Hermione's hand was jerked away from him, and the curse died on her tongue as she reflexively stomped her foot down onto his wand so that he could not retrieve it. He didn't even reach for it, however, just looked at her, cruel amusement on his features.

Aiming her wand at him again, Hermione yelled, "Cruci-" This time, she was thrown backwards, her own wand flying from her grasp. From her position on the forest floor, her vision was suddenly filled with Snape, who had moved to stand over her.

"You silly little girl," he hissed, real anger in his tone now. "You are no match for me! Do you honestly think that I have managed to live this long without mastering wandless magic? I possess skills you can only dream of, and you think to torture me? _ME_?" He spun away, only to return seconds later. "Get up," he snarled, grabbing her hand and yanking her to her feet.

He had picked up his wand once more, and Hermione was startled to see that he was holding hers out to her. "Go," he ordered, his voice heavy with madness. "Get back to your ridiculous friends and your ridiculous convictions. GO!" He aimed his wand at her, and Hermione didn't waste a second in turning and sprinting away through the trees.

Only once she felt she had put a safe distance between them did she stop to catch her breath. Resting her hands on her knees, she panted as she replayed what had happened. Snape had come to witness Dumbledore's funeral; surely that was not the sign of someone so evil? But then he had boasted of his act to her, strutted about while he proudly announced what he'd done.

He could not be trusted, she saw that now, it had only been her foolish optimism that had kept her from seeing the truth before. But now, _now_ she knew better. She would waste no more breath defending Snape to anyone. Breaking into sobs, Hermione vowed to destroy his handkerchief at the first opportunity.

.oOo.

Snape watched her go, her terrified face lingering in his vision long after the sounds of her retreat had faded. If possible, he felt even more miserable than before. He had hoped she'd take him at his word – that he'd come to gloat – and run off to alert someone, allowing him to escape. But no, the stupid girl had stood her ground and questioned him, telling him she'd believed he hadn't murdered Dumbledore without good reason. That had brought him up short. If she had come to that conclusion, was it possible that others had as well?

It would not do for Snape's duplicity to come to light, not now at the crucial moment. And so he had mustered all his resolve, and acted in a way he knew would ensure that she would hate him. It was the only way to keep her, and her friends – and _him_ – safe from Voldemort.

If his heart ached at the thought of her keeping his handkerchief – if his mind urged him to confess all to a small, brave slip of a girl – if he felt immense guilt crushing down on him when he flung her to the ground with a jinx – well, that was a small price to pay to prevent her from becoming a target of the Dark Lord's. Sweeping back into the Forest, Snape made his way out of the grounds, not bothering to torture himself with a final glance at Dumbledore's resting place.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: WeasleySeeker is witty, wonderful, wild, warm, wealthy (I hope?), wise, whimsical, well-groomed (I'm guessing), and wonderful (worth a second mention). Snakeweed I chose mostly because this chapter has a lot to do with Snape and his Slytherin tendencies for deceit… plus, it's commonly used to treat stomach ailments, and I imagine that both Snape and Hermione are feeling quite ill at the end of this chapter, albeit for different reasons. I am J.K. Rowling, and everyone reading this should send me money and lavish praise. Just kidding about the money. **


	17. Chapter 16: Sopophorous Bean

**August 1997**

"Headmaster! I bring news of the Potter boy!" Phineas Nigellus Black hurriedly appeared in his portrait, preening before the suddenly interested gaze of Severus Snape, new Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Well?" Snape asked impatiently.

"The boy arrived at Order Headquarters shortly after departing the Weasley wedding." Phineas Nigellus seemed put out that Snape was not praising him for this valuable tidbit.

"And? Is he alone?" Snape was standing directly in front of Phineas Nigellus' painting, now, and it was unsettling.

"No, Headmaster, the blood-traitor and the Mudbl-" Snape's look cut him off, and Phineas Nigellus decided – wisely – to rephrase. "That is, the redhead and the bookworm are with him."

"They are – unharmed?" Snape's tone, though carefully controlled, still sounded worried to the portrait.

"Yes, yes," Phineas Nigellus answered him, waving a hand dismissively. "There was some mention of being attacked by Death Eaters, but-"

Once again, Snape's anger seemed to spill forth, and Phineas Nigellus was quick to reassure him. "They are fine!" he said in a rush. "No one followed them to Grimmauld Place, they were certain."

"Keep an eye on them," Snape instructed, before hurrying from the room, a furrow between his brows.

.oOo.

"Headmaster? I have visited my portrait in Grimmauld Place and have found the children to be alive and well," Phineas Nigellus stated the next day. Snape had asked him to check in on the students, inquiring after their well-being.

"That is very good news indeed," Snape replied, his shoulders slumping with relief. "Were you able to discern any of their conversation?"

"Unfortunately not," Phineas Nigellus replied. "I shall endeavor to do so tomorrow."

Nodding, Snape returned to his desk.

.oOo.

"Headmaster, there is nothing new to report," Phineas Nigellus called out as he sidled back into his portrait at Hogwarts. "The children are still at Grimmauld Place."

"Very good," Snape answered him, ceasing his pacing. "Same time tomorrow." And he swept from the room.

* * *

><p><strong>September 1997<strong>

"Headmaster, the children remain at Headquarters, as always," Phineas Nigellus reported.

"Thank you, Phineas," Snape said absently.

.oOo.

"Headmaster, the children have sprouted wings and are now flying about the ceiling, eating Bowtruckle sandwiches," Phineas Nigellus said, bored with the subject. Snape had inquired about the annoying beasts every day, until it had become so routine that he no longer had to say the words – Phineas Nigellus performed his daily check every morning and delivered his observations immediately to Snape. Soon, it had become twice-daily checks, and now, Phineas Nigellus found himself bouncing back and forth between his portraits like some sort of ridiculous tennis ball. It was undignified for a Slytherin, he was certain.

"Thank you, Ph- what?" Snape's eyes snapped up, and he scowled at the painting. "If it is too much _trouble _for you, Phineas, I am sure we can find another, more willing observer?" he hissed.

Glaring back, Phineas Nigellus huffed out an aggrieved breath. He would not be outshone by another, less prestigious portrait. "No, Headmaster," he said through gritted teeth. "It is no difficulty whatsoever."

"Let us keep it that way," Snape said in a low growl before storming from the office.

.oOo.

"Headmaster!" Phineas Nigellus skidded to a halt in his portrait, panting from the exertion. "Headmaster Snape!"

Snape strode forward, alarm written across his features. "Yes, what is it?"

"The girl, the girl, she has removed my portrait from the noble and most ancient House of Black!" Phineas Nigellus cried, affronted.

"How is that possible?" Snape asked, his voice harsh with fear. "I thought there was a Permanent Sticking Charm-"

"There was, there was!" exclaimed Phineas Nigellus. "The girl, she managed to remove it! I believe… I believe I have been relegated to… her purse," he whispered, shame invading every fiber of his painted being.

Snape merely stared at him. Phineas Nigellus grew uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "Well? Headmaster?"

Almost as though he were talking to himself, Snape muttered, "Removed a Permanent Sticking Charm… only Miss Granger…" Then, snapping out of his musings, Snape fired off questions: "Why are you in the bag? Did they realize you were checking on them? Have they sighted you?"

"No, I do not believe so, I have always been most discreet," Phineas Nigellus responded, insulted at Snape's accusation. "I believe the girl merely realized that there was the possibility, and thinks to disable you from doing so, should you recognize the connection between my portraits. I am certain I was not discovered," he finished.

"Very well, then," Snape replied, his relief evident. "It would be most helpful if you were to remain in your other portrait, and only return here when you have information to report." Phineas Nigellus opened his mouth to protest this horrid assignment, but Snape spoke before he could. "No, Phineas, you know this is the most likely way we will learn anything. If you are indeed in Miss Granger's handbag, then you are in closer proximity to them than before. Do not let them know you are there, but listen carefully to anything you can hear, understood?"

Phineas Nigellus merely nodded unhappily, slouching off to his other portrait. The other Headmasters and Headmistresses would never let him live this down, he just knew it.

.oOo.

"Headmaster?" Phineas Nigellus edged slowly into his portrait at Hogwarts, quickly shutting his eyes and holding up an arm against the light of the room. "Blast! It is beyond bright in here!"

"What is it, Phineas?" Snape asked wearily. "It is the middle of the night."

"Yes, well, that would seem bright to you as well if you had spent the last week in the complete darkness of a girl's handbag," Phineas Nigellus snarled. Snape merely rubbed his temples, so Phineas Nigellus continued. "The children seem to be planning something, although I do not know what, as the only sounds that reach my ears are quite distorted," Phineas Nigellus complained.

"Keep listening," Snape said, dismissing him. "I am sure something will-"

"But that is why I have come!" Phineas Nigellus said, now cracking one eye open. "The foolish girl left her bag unclasped, so if you would like to listen… ?" Through the slits of his eyes, Phineas Nigellus watched as Snape leapt out of his chair and strode hurriedly over to the portrait.

"Why did you not say so sooner?" Snape growled. "Go, now!"

Scowling, Phineas Nigellus made the return trip to his other portrait. Waiting impatiently, Snape stared at the empty frame in his office as though he could see something in it if he only tried hard enough. Suddenly, the sounds of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place were projected around the room, almost as if they were issuing from a Wizarding wireless.

"_I'm not sure about this, Harry… it's the most dangerous place we could be right now!"_

At the sound of Hermione's voice emanating from the portrait, Snape felt his knees buckle and his heart skip a beat. Sinking into a chair, Snape put his head in his hands, ignoring the curious looks from the other portraits.

"_We have to, Hermione – it's our only clue! Besides, we'll plan as much as you want – maps, notes, you name it! But we have to do this…" _

"_Oh, I suppose, if we really take some time to think about it…"_

The voices drifted away, and Snape felt more bereft than he had before in his entire life. He was truly beginning to wallow when the nasally voice of Phineas Nigellus broke into his misery.

"They appear to have gone upstairs," the portrait reported. "But they have been having conversations like this more and more frequently ever since that filthy Mundungus creature arrived. I suppose you wish for me to continue listening?" he asked, sounding hopeful that Snape would say no.

"Yes, yes, of course," Snape snapped, raising his head and glaring at the portrait. He was distracted, however, by a question from Dumbledore.

"Severus? How is it that we can hear their conversation?" the most recent Headmaster asked, his curiosity evident.

"I do not know," Snape answered honestly. "Phineas and I believe it to be some kind of Slytherin connection – some spell or enchantment set on the portraits of Slytherin Headmasters, perhaps even by Salazar himself. It would seem that they were most concerned with the ability to spy on others without their knowledge."

"But this is fascinating!" exclaimed Dumbledore. "And it only works with Phineas' portrait, you say?"

"Naturally, when we discovered this link, we set about to test the other Slytherin Headmaster portraits… which is when we discovered that there has only ever been one other Slytherin Headmaster, and quite unfortunately, Vindictus has thus far refused to test out the theory," Snape said wryly. A portrait huffed irritably from further up on the wall, and all eyes turned to look at Professor Vindictus Veridian, who had turned his back to them.

Turning back to Snape, Dumbledore asked, "But Severus… why did you never tell me of this connection before?"

However, it was Phineas Nigellus who answered. "The great members of Slytherin House are not bound to do the bidding of nosy old Gryffindors!" he cried, slamming a fist against his palm.

"Quite frankly, Dumbledore… you were privy to far more than any one person should be entitled to already," Snape replied, the merest hint of an unused smile ghosting his lips.

"Fair enough, my boy, fair enough!" Dumbledore cackled. "In any event, I suppose such a skill would hardly have come in handy before now, with Grimmauld Place sitting empty."

"True," Snape intoned before turning back to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus. "Need I remind you not to be seen by the students?" Snape asked him.

"Of course not," Phineas Nigellus said haughtily. "If this is the treatment I am to receive here, I believe I shall return to the handbag!" and with that, he was gone.

Snape looked again at Dumbledore, both faces showing extreme worry over what the three students were planning to do that was so dangerous.

.oOo.

Snape had nearly worn a hole in the carpet near the fireplace in his office. The news about the trio's break-in to the Ministry of Magic was all anyone could talk about, and how they'd managed to escape alive was no small mystery. Still, he worried – Phineas Nigellus had not been seen or heard from in several days now, and Snape received no response when he called for him. He did not wish to contemplate what this could mean.

Suddenly, as though Snape's thoughts had summoned him, Phineas Nigellus skidded to a halt in his portrait, panting as though he had run a great distance.

"Headmaster!" he wheezed, gripping his sides. "Headmaster, I am sorry I was unable to communicate before now – but they have moved; the children, they're no longer at Grimmauld Place – it's a long story, but needless to say, they cannot return there – I have been struggling to find my way back to this portrait ever since I was removed from the Black residence, but I believe that I can now-"

"Nevermind, nevermind!" Snape grabbed the frame of the portrait as though to shake it. "Is she – I mean, are they injured? Harmed in any way? Answer me!" Snape was bellowing at the portrait, a crazed look in his eyes.

"Well, how rude!" Phineas Nigellus gasped, still out of breath. "I have been tossed upside down, battered by books and Sneakoscopes, abducted from my home-"

"ENOUGH!" roared Snape, and every portrait in the office froze at the uncharacteristic show of emotion. "Are. They. Harmed?" Snape enunciated each word with deadly precision.

"No, no, they are perfectly alright!" Phineas Nigellus spat. "Well, the redhead was splinched, but the Mudbl- that is, the Granger girl healed him adequately enough," he added.

Slumping against the wall, Snape closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of relief. Straightening, he addressed Phineas Nigellus' portrait again. "You are to report back here as often as possible," he commanded. "Pay close attention for any mention of their whereabouts, and notify me immediately if she leaves the bag open again, I do not care what time of day or night it is, is that clear?" Snape barked out the orders rapidly, and ignored the way Phineas Nigellus' shoulders stiffened in indignation.

"As you wish, Headmaster," Phineas Nigellus responded sarcastically. "I'll just find my way back to wherever those monsters have Apparated to now, shall I? No respect for one's elders these days; why, when I was Headmaster, no one would have dared…" Snape could hear his grumbling all the way out of his portrait. Sighing, he sunk into his chair and put his head on his desk, rubbing his temples.

* * *

><p><strong>October 1997<strong>

"Headmaster, the children have moved again, but I do not know where – just another forest, it seems," Phineas Nigellus whined as he appeared in the Headmaster's office.

"Thank you," Snape replied curtly, not even looking up. He missed the way Phineas Nigellus frowned at him before leaving again.

.oOo.

"Headmaster! The girl has realized they can speak to me," Phineas Nigellus exclaimed as he entered his Hogwarts portrait. "The foolish things were actually attempting to glean information from me," he reported with a snort.

"Phineas… why are you wearing that ridiculous blindfold?" Snape asked, tilting his head to study the painting.

"Oh!" Phineas Nigellus, suddenly remembering what he was wearing, began to tear at the piece of black fabric over his eyes. "It's the girl, she did not wish for me to see their surroundings in case I reported back to you," Phineas Nigellus explained. As the blindfold remained in place, he did not see Snape's smile of amusement.

"Very clever," Snape muttered to himself. "Here-" and he swished his wand to remove the blindfold.

"Ah, thank you," Phineas Nigellus sighed. "If she only realized how long I have been privy to their conversations…"

"Indeed," Snape agreed. "Let us not forget that they cannot realize how much we know, Phineas. Not until we have learned their location."

"Why must we, by the by?" Phineas Nigellus wondered out loud.

"It is of the utmost importance," Snape replied, and Phineas Nigellus had never heard him sound so serious before.

* * *

><p><strong>November 1997 <strong>

"Headmaster, I bring interesting news," Phineas Nigellus called out, gingerly feeling his way into the frame. The girl had never once forgotten to blindfold him, the infuriating piece of baggage. "The redhead has abandoned the others – I was able to hear their argument, they were yelling so loudly – it is just Potter and the girl, now," he finished as Snape removed the blindfold.

Snape was staring at him in shock. He turned to look at Dumbledore, who merely smiled and nodded. "Do not worry, Severus – the boy will find his way back, I am certain."

"In the meantime, leaving Potter and Her- Miss Granger more exposed than before!" he hissed angrily. "I do hope he decides to return to school… he will find that he has detentions with Filch for so long, his grandchildren will still be serving them."

Chuckling, Dumbledore merely shook his head. Clearing his throat, Phineas Nigellus once again caught Snape's attention. "It seems that with the Weasley mutt gone, the other two have become quite despondent," he offered. "The girl has taken to setting my portrait out in the tent – always blindfolded, I am afraid," he said quickly, for he saw Snape's eyes snap to him in interest. "And they have been terribly cautious about mentioning any identifying landmarks in my presence."

"Nonetheless, this could be an excellent opportunity." Snape considered Phineas Nigellus for a moment before demanding, "Open the connection."

Nodding, Phineas Nigellus disappeared. Snape, and the rest of the Headmasters and Headmistresses, waited, not knowing what to expect. They listened to the eerily quiet sounds of a tent full of loneliness, uncertainty, and fear for the better part of an hour before determining that nothing was to be gained for the moment. Snape dragged his chair over to the painting, and eventually fell asleep beneath it.

* * *

><p><strong>December 1997 <strong>

Several nights later, Snape was dozing fitfully in his chair beneath Phineas Nigellus' portrait, as had become his habit. He leapt to his feet, drawing his wand in defense, when the crackling sound of music began to play. Looking wildly around, he saw no one. A few of the other portraits had awoken as well. Dumbledore nodded to Phineas Nigellus' portrait, and Snape turned, listening. It seemed that Potter and Hermione had turned on a wireless and were now listening to holiday tunes. Relaxing, he stowed his wand back in his robes, and noted that most of the paintings had returned to slumber.

He moved to stand closely by the empty frame. At his request, Phineas Nigellus had remained stationed in his picture in Hermione's bag, allowing Snape to listen in at any given time. It was fast becoming urgent that he figure out where they were, and this seemed the most efficient use of Phineas Nigellus' abilities.

Unfortunately, their discussions were muffled and incomprehensible whenever Phineas Nigellus found himself shoved back into her bag, but the old Headmaster had been correct – it seemed that the two of them were leaving the portrait out more frequently in Weasley's absence. Then a voice rang out, and Snape recoiled automatically at the grating sound.

"Hermione…" Potter murmured. "Dance with me?" Snape rolled his eyes in disgust. His Hermione – that is, Miss Granger – would never dance with such an arrogant, irritating-

"Alright," came the whispered response, and Snape's stomach clenched. She sounded miserable. She must be miserable to accept such an offer! Snape heard the scuffling sounds of two pairs of feet, and Potter said something unintelligible about a necklace. He must have increased the volume of the wireless, as well, because suddenly the notes of the song were quite loud in the quiet Headmaster's office.

_Poor old Jim's white as a ghost  
>He's found the answer that we lost<br>We're all weeping now, weeping because  
>There ain't nothing we can do to protect you<em>

_O children_  
><em>Lift up your voice, lift up your voice<em>  
><em>Children<em>  
><em>Rejoice, rejoice<em>

Snape's blood was thundering in his ears. His heart stopped, fluttered, then started up again, racing madly. He recognized this song…

_Hey little train! We are all jumping on  
>The train that goes to the Kingdom<br>We're happy, Ma, we're having fun  
>And the train ain't even left the station<em>

_Hey, little train! Wait for me!_  
><em>I once was blind but now I see<em>  
><em>Have you left a seat for me?<em>  
><em>Is that such a stretch of the imagination?<em>

He would never forget this song. They had danced to it, at Slughorn's party, what now seemed like entire lifetimes ago. It was their song! How dare Potter! How dare Hermione! Did she not remember that night in as much detail as he did? Had their dance meant so little to her?

He could picture them so clearly, the scruffy black head bent low against the rioting brown curls, swaying softly… Potter's hands at her waist, hers about his neck… He heard her laugh, the sound rusty from disuse, and he wanted to save Voldemort the trouble and kill Potter himself.

_Hey little train! Wait for me!  
>I was held in chains but now I'm free<br>I'm hanging in there, don't you see  
>In this process of elimination…<em>

And then it was over, the wireless returned to its quieter volume, silence once again emanating from the tent. Snape was left to his imagination, which was showing him horrible scenes, indeed. Potter… and his Hermione. Of course, it made sense – they were on the run, alone, fueled by adrenaline, the only source of companionship and comfort for one another…

One hand against the cold wall, one resting against his chest, Snape bowed his head in utter defeat. Though most would be surprised to hear it, Snape _did_ have a heart: it had, after all, just broken painfully into a thousand pieces.

.oOo.

Staring at the canvas wall of the tent without seeing it, Hermione's thoughts were a thousand miles away. The forest they were in now was full of pine trees… which meant she was constantly bombarded by _his _scent. That, together with the festive decorations she had seen when she'd ventured into a nearby village earlier in the day, had reminded her quite forcibly of Christmas last year, a Christmas where she had been happy…

She had been thrilled when Snape asked her to dance in their secret alcove at Slughorn's party. Her body had gone up in flames when he'd spun her around and tucked her head to his chest. She'd fallen for him a little bit then. She would never have thought – could never have known – what was coming. Biting back tears, Hermione started when Harry suddenly appeared in front of her, holding out his hand. Without question, she'd taken it – she always would, she'd follow Harry anywhere; her course in life had been set long ago.

When he'd drawn her forward to dance with him, it had taken her several moments to realize what was going on. Her brain was decidedly sluggish lately. Harry's enthusiasm – and distinct lack of dance skills – soon had her smiling, however, and moving with him. It was the first time they'd smiled in… well, weeks, probably, and she was loath to end the feeling.

But then she paid attention to the music blaring from the wireless: the song that haunted her, the song that meant everything to her. And the tears fell, even as she tucked her head against Harry's shoulder and hung on as though he was her anchor, when they both knew it was the other way around. Crying silently, Hermione wondered – what was Snape doing now? Did he ever think of her?

She felt traitorous for wishing that he might care where she was. As the song ended, she returned to her chair, once again staring blankly at the wall and willing her emotions to disappear entirely.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Whew, almost done! As always, a huge thank-you to WeasleySeeker, my beta. Sopophorous bean is used in the Draught of Living Death, and by the end of this chapter you'll agree with me that Snape is experiencing something of a living death in regards to Hermione. J.K. Rowling called, she wants her characters and their innocence back. This chapter contains a little more movie-canon, and again, I don't own Nick Cave or his music. **


	18. Chapter 17: Moonstone

**May 1998**

Making his way slowly to the Whomping Willow, Severus inhaled deeply. He knew what was waiting for him, so he meandered, taking in all his favorite sights, trying to fill his last moments with everything that made him happy – or as happy as a man such as he could ever be.

On the heels of that thought, his eyes scanned the grassy lawn for the one thing that, perhaps, made him happiest. His heart sank when she was nowhere to be seen, and he cursed himself for his weakness. He summoned thoughts of Lily, instead, surrounding himself with them like a warm blanket. His love for her was and had always been soothing, consistent, something he could count on when everything else was in shambles. It had grown dull around the edges these past years, though, and its presence now was less of a comfort than Severus had hoped for.

It was that bloody Amortentia, he knew. The day it had changed its scent had signaled the end of his peaceful existence. As he gathered his courage and moved into the tunnel beneath the Willow, the woman in his mind's eye wavered, her features flickering madly between brightest red and warmest brown.

.oOo.

Hermione sank to her knees on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, tears pouring silently down her face. Harry was busy collecting the silvery-white memories gushing from Snape… gushing nearly as quickly as the blood was leaving his body. She felt nauseous; she was helpless to save him. Swishing her wand softly, she cast a pain-numbing spell. It would not help much, but it was all she could offer. It was shocking, really, that he had held on this long at all – they knew from Arthur Weasley's experience that Nagini's venom was powerful.

Without warning, Snape's eyes locked onto hers, and images began to flash across her mind, like a film. Too stunned to do anything, Hermione merely held Snape's gaze even as her entire field of vision was taken up with the memories he was showing her.

**Snape was pacing up and down the Headmaster's office on her first night at Hogwarts, berating the Sorting Hat – and Dumbledore – arguing that a mind as sharp as hers should not be wasted in Gryffindor. Snape, stifling a smile of amusement on the first day of class when she was so eager to answer his questions. Sitting by the fire, brows furrowed in concentration, as he checked the facts in her over-long essay about the properties of moonstone, impressed despite himself. His fear at seeing her standing beside the felled troll; his sympathy at the dried tear stains on her cheeks. **

Hermione wondered how she was able to feel Snape's emotions in addition to viewing his memories. She had never come across this particular phenomenon in all her reading – but she supposed that this sort of reverse Legilimency was hardly out of the realm of possibility for one of the most skilled wizards since possibly Dumbledore himself. Hurriedly wiping at the tears on her face, Hermione struggled to stay strong as Snape continued to show her moments from her – no, _their_ – past. She barely blinked as she stared back into his dark eyes.

**Snape's continued delight at her aptitude for Potions. His consternation and begrudging admiration for her quick thinking when she set his robes on fire. His pride at her ability to decipher his potions logic defense. His unwillingness to admit that she was likely going to become his favorite student.**

The images started to come faster now. Hermione gave up trying to fully view each one, instead allowing them to play across her mind as he showed them to her. She knew she could review them at her leisure in the Pensieve later… if she survived this night. Banishing that thought, she settled more comfortably on her knees, never breaking eye contact with the dying wizard in front of them.

**Snape was curious about the supplies missing from his storeroom – he wondered who had taken them, and whether they would be successful if they were brewing what he thought they were. Snape's amazement when he realized what she'd done when he came to treat her in the hospital wing. Snape, praising Hermione's skill to Dumbledore without giving away the fact that she had illegally brewed Polyjuice Potion. His fear as the basilisk attacks on students mounted – his concern when he had come to visit her Petrified form one evening – his secret visits to her hospital bed every night thereafter. His constant badgering of Professor Sprout about the readiness of the Mandrake Restorative Drought. His relief at seeing her returned to her normal, agitating self at the end of the year. **

The urge to start crying again was powerful, but Hermione resisted: she knew that these memories of Snape's were precious, and he would not appreciate her "silly little emotions" getting in the way of whatever it was he was trying to communicate to her. Wringing her hands together and biting the inside of her cheek, Hermione tried to stay focused on his eyes… and not the blood continuing to seep from his neck in an ever-widening pool.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Harry was still working to scoop the silvery memory strands from Snape's face into the vial she had handed him. The vial that, until their foray into Godric's Hollow, had contained a miniscule amount of antivenin. She had used the last of it on Harry's wounds, and now she felt sick to her stomach – what if she had saved just a few drops? Would it matter, or would Snape still be dying now?

**Snape had been pleased when Hermione had realized the truth of Lupin's condition – he had known she would after his substitute Defense lesson. There was Snape, watching a sleeping Hermione in the library while she had been researching for Buckbeak's trial – he had brushed her hair back and conjured a blanket for her before melting back into a shadowed alcove, where he had kept watch over her all night. Now Snape was following Lupin out to the Shrieking Shack, terror for herself, Ron and, yes, Harry, making his heart pound. Snape, mortified to have been disarmed by mere children. Snape was arguing with Dumbledore about Hermione and Harry rescuing Sirius, knowing that they – and others – were listening, and needing to put up a good front. His weariness at always being "the bad guy", and his resignation at the necessity.**

Now the memories were becoming choppy, disordered; they assaulted her brain so rapidly that it was like trying to see each individual illustration in a flipbook – if you looked too hard, you'd get dizzy.

**Snape was proud as Hermione entered the Yule Ball with an air of confidence – as the other students were struck dumb by her appearance on the arm of Viktor Krum. Snape had voted for only two students to become prefects: Draco and Hermione. Snape was questioning Dumbledore about the safety of the "hostages" for the second Triwizard task. Snape grinned widely to himself upon seeing Hermione's O.W.L. scores before they were sent home. Snape was humbled by the girl's request for a dance when he had been sitting alone and miserable. Snape was worried about the girl and Umbridge's unfortunate fascination with whatever Hermione and the others were up to in the Room of Requirement. Snape, slipping the book containing the healing properties of murtlap essence into Hermione's bag. Hermione, studying for O.W.L.s. Hermione, dancing in the study at Grimmauld Place. Hermione, smiling at Ron and Harry. Hermione – Yule Ball – so proud – pretty dress –**

Hermione could tell that Snape was getting weaker. She was grateful that they had chanced upon this grisly scene in the Shrieking Shack, or else she would never have seen these precious memories. She thought she'd known Snape better than just about everyone, but now she realized that she hardly knew him at all. She did not know what the memories Harry was collecting would show, but surely someone who felt this depth of emotion for her could not be as bad as everyone believed?

The black eyes filled with concentration as Snape continued to gaze at Hermione, and suddenly the images slowed. Probably using the last of his strength, Snape seemed to be focused on showing her the final images in great detail. Hermione thought they must be important – maybe they would be hints to help defeat Voldemort?

**Snape was astonished at the defensive skills demonstrated by Hermione and the others in DADA class – he suspected he now knew what they had been doing last year, and he also suspected it had been Hermione's brilliant idea. Snape was impressed with Hermione's plan to learn Occlumency; he was shocked at what he saw in her thoughts; he was angry with himself for succumbing to temptation and kissing her, even if it had been wonderful. He admired her from afar at Slughorn's party; he worried about the growing circles under her eyes as she waited up for Harry whenever he was with Dumbledore; when he vowed to the Headmaster to protect the students, it was her that he thought of. When he'd run for the Astronomy Tower that night, he had been dismayed to find her outside his office – she, who had always defended him. He had hated to see the terror in her eyes, knowing that far worse was coming; he'd wanted nothing more than to grab her and run away forever. Her kiss, her eyes – so trusting. He had allowed himself to cry, later, alone in his boyhood home: both for the loss of Dumbledore, and for the loss of something indefinable and pure – the loss of any good feelings Hermione had harbored for him. **

Hermione felt herself growing warm as a myriad of sensations washed over her. These memories – the ones that were so important they were draining Snape's dwindling energy – they were not of Voldemort, or even Harry: they were, all of them, Snape's emotions for her laid bare. Snape had cared for her; he had been watching her all these years… always watching, waiting, and silently encouraging, though she had not realized it. Beginning to cry again in earnest, Hermione reached out and gripped his cold hand. The long fingers briefly returned a faint pressure, and the images playing across her mind were somehow magnified, as though demanding her full attention.

**A thinner, tenser, more focused Snape, his eyes ringed by dark circles of exhaustion, was sitting in the Headmaster's office and writing the letter to Hermione informing her of his choice to make her Head Girl. Snape was pacing, angrily questioning Dumbledore's portrait when she had not returned to school in September. Snape was both relieved and terrified when Hermione's picture had appeared in the Daily Prophet after their break-in at the Ministry… at least she was alive, but now it was widely known that she was traveling with Potter. Snape demanded, daily, that Phineas Nigellus check in on "the girl" and report back whether she was alright. **

**Snape was standing mere feet from their tent in the Forest of Dean, casting his Patronus for Potter to see; although it took every ounce of self-control he possessed, he followed after the boy and the doe, even as every cell in his body was screaming for him to stride into the tent, to pick her up, to never let her go. Snape was slowly, sooo slowly, making his way to the Shrieking Shack, where he knew Voldemort intended to kill him. Along the way, he hopefully looked for a wild mane of brown hair, but he saw none. He brought to mind every thought of her he could remember: every glance, every conversation, every kiss. The amazing sense of being understood, cared for, at last, was what enabled him to make the journey to his most certain death. As the snake lunged, Snape closed his eyes and thought only of her: Hermione...**

His eyes returned to Harry's. Hermione gasped with understanding: in death, Snape showed her all the pride and admiration he had not been able to show in life. A rush of tenderness, almost… _love_, overwhelmed her. Racked with sobs, Hermione collapsed onto the floor as Snape's body became still once and for all.

.oOo.

As Snape gazed at Hermione, he willed her to understand. When he sensed that she would become distraught, he urged her to focus on the memories. He knew she was bright; she would piece everything together and realize what he had known when he had spent so many hours listening to her, watching over her, through Phineas Nigellus' portrait – he almost, _almost_, loved her. If given more time… but there was none, not for him. He felt his strength seeping away with his blood, and knew it would not be long now. Her hand gripped his tightly, and he redoubled his efforts to show Hermione everything she needed to see.

His vision narrowed until all he could see were twin pools of warmest brown, flecked with gold. He supposed it was fitting that she was a Gryffindor, after all. Struggling to take a breath, Snape detected her unique honey-almond scent, even underneath the overwhelming stench of dirt and blood, and he was soothed. He supposed the Amortentia had been correct, then.

He hoped that she would remember him as she had known him, maybe even fondly, even after Potter inevitably showed her the _other _memories leaking from him. They were important, too, though they scarcely mattered to Snape anymore: he had done his duty by Lily's son, and perhaps now he would be worthy of Hermione's care and admiration in return. An odd sound escaped him as he inwardly laughed – Dumbledore would be so proud to see him now, painfully, agonizingly dying, yet still maintaining that rigid control of his brain that was allowing him to supply both Potter and Hermione with his memories. Ever the consummate spy, he was.

Black spots began to appear in front of him, and Snape felt completely numb. And tired – he was so tired. Turning back to Harry, he looked one final time into the bright green eyes that had haunted him so, and hoped that Harry, too, would one day come to understand. Closing his eyes, Snape gave himself up to death, his job done: tonight, he had well and truly given all his secrets away.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This concludes our tale. WeasleySeeker deserves a shiny gold Prefects badge for sticking with me and reading my chapters in the order that I haphazardly wrote them. I composed this chapter in my head during my long morning commutes while listening to Secrets by One Republic – a song that perfectly mirrors the mood of this chapter. Or maybe this chapter perfectly mirrors the mood of the song… Moonstones are used in Love Potions and the Draught of Peace, which seems particularly poignant, plus they adorned Auntie Muriel's tiara, which… has… no connection to this chapter whatsoever. Except that they both occur in the same masterpiece of a book, which I unfortunately did not write. My loss. **


	19. Epilogue: Syrup of Hellebore

**September 1998**

The late summer sun bathed Hermione as she made her way across the grounds. Her feet led her to her destination automatically, following the same path that she took every day. Her mind was therefore free to wander, and wander it did: to memories of her school days, to visions of her future, to reflections on the changes in her life over the past few weeks. Thoughts of the final battle, however, were banished in the bright sunlight and whispering wind.

The grass swished softly beneath her feet as she reached her goal. The inky black marble of the tomb nearly exactly matched his eyes. As she approached the cool stone, she noticed - not for the first time - the way all sound fell away in the small clearing where his and Dumbledore's tombs were. It was almost as though even Nature herself was awed by the powerful wizards put to rest here.

Hermione sat in her customary spot beneath the tree near the monument. It had been her idea to plant it here. She suspected that Snape would hate it, but she'd known from the beginning that she would need a place to sit when she made her frequent visits to this hallowed spot. All of Snape's monument had been her idea, actually, from the inscription - "I can teach you to brew glory, bottle fame, even put a stopper in death" - to the placement of the tomb itself - next to Dumbledore's, not behind.

Sighing deeply, she fingered the small vial she kept in her pocket at all times. It was a deep green color and was simply labeled: "Amortentia, 1991 (HJG?)". She'd discovered it while cleaning out Snape's old chambers, and her initials had caught her eye, since they had clearly been written in many years after the date the potion was brewed. She wasn't sure why this bottle had been singled out and stored in the heavily locked part of the cabinet... Just one more mystery surrounding the man that had been Severus Snape, she supposed.

Uncapping the vial, she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. She'd kept it for herself after uncorking it the first time. She had not been prepared for the overwhelming reminder of _him_, that was for certain. The scents of pine needles, expensive ink, and hot pewter cauldrons had nearly brought her to her knees at the first sniff. The bout of tears that followed had only been stopped when Harry and Ron had come looking for her after she failed to show up to breakfast.

Shaking herself, Hermione rose and moved forward to place her customary kiss upon the unyielding onyx marble before heading back to the castle. If the others knew how much time she spent here, at his graveside, they would surely commit her to St. Mungo's immediately, but she didn't care. It was her own tribute to a man that had in turns infuriated her and fascinated her, but always, _always_, looked out for her.

Stepping back, a movement at the edge of the clearing caught her eye.

"When are we going to tell them about you, Severus?" she asked calmly, turning to face the man now gliding out of the brush.

His eyes were hard as ever as they stared at his tombstone. "Now is not the time, Hermione," he said, his constant refrain to her questioning.

She shivered at the sound of his voice. She imagined it would affect her for the rest of her life - it was not a voice that one grew to take for granted. That same voice could terrify, command, seduce, instruct, inspire: she was eternally thankful that Nagini's bite had not, after all, destroyed it completely.

"If you say so," she replied simply. "I've got to head back - it's nearly dinner. Will I see you tomorrow?"

One shoulder lifted in a jerky shrug. His eyes never left the grave as she turned and made her way back to the castle. Hermione tucked the Amortentia back into her pocket and hoped that tomorrow would be the day he'd change his mind.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Syrup of Hellebore is used in the Draught of Peace, and furthermore, legend has it that it is used by witches to summon demons - take that however you like with this chapter. This epilogue is entirely un-beta'd, as I realized I couldn't bear to kill him off entirely. Let this chapter also serve as a PSA for my latest work - a companion piece, of sorts, to this one. I've just started writing it and look forward to getting at least a chapter or two published soon. In the meantime, I am still not JK Rowling, despite my best attempts to brew a real Polyjuice. **


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